


The Sound of Pulling Heaven Down

by SilverFlameAlchemist



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Battle of Five Armies, Alternate Universes, Canon Divergence - Post Thor: The Dark World, Canon Divergence - Post-Thor (2011), Canon Divergence - Pre-The Hobbit, Captor/Captive Dynamic, Dimension Travel, Finding Beauty in Pain, Hanky-Panky Thranki, Interspecies Relationship(s), Jotunn | Frost Giant, Jötunn Loki, Legolas ships it, Loki Fell To Middle Earth, M/M, Magic, No One Fucks With Thrandy, Non-Sexual Bondage, Orgasm Denial, Reunion Sex, Reunions, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Sass Masters, Serious Injuries, Slow Burn, Snarky Elves, Thranki, magical sex, mentions of torture, sex spells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 08:47:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9483524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverFlameAlchemist/pseuds/SilverFlameAlchemist
Summary: These stars, this sky, were not ones he recognized. Everything was foreign and unfamiliar to him, even the air he breathed tasted differently from the atmosphere he was used to. He hadn’t known what would happen when he let go, when he fell away from his brother and his desperate attempts to keep him by his side. But here, now, he wondered what was to become of him; a dark star fallen onto an unfamiliar earth.





	1. I Saw Stars, Stars That I Could Reach

**Author's Note:**

> Here goes nothing...

He was falling, further than he ever had before. Through tapestry nebulas and lacework patterns that filled the sky around him. Stars glimmered as he rushed past in a whirl of fabric and tangling limbs. Everything hurt, the cold bit into his skin, despite his lineage. He felt for sure he would tear in half from the rush; gravity pulling him further and further, past branching galaxies not his own. He fell past stars he did not recognize, plummeting toward a landscape he was unfamiliar with.

He caught himself, barely, with a push of magic, to keep his collision from causing any permanent damage. A rush of breath left him as he collided with the ground. He rolled onto his back, staring up into the stars above him, confused, uncertain: he didn’t know where he was. These stars, this sky, were not ones he recognized. Everything was foreign and unfamiliar to him, even the air he breathed tasted differently from the atmosphere he was used to. Off to his left rose tall trees in a long, dark line, towering above him, branches swaying in a cool night breeze. To his right, plains stretched on for an age, before eventually ending in a line of mountains that kissed the sky.

The night was cool, calm, quiet; barely even a whisper of birdsong from the forest to his left. He let out a rush of breath, this time a sigh, and closed his eyes against the ever-watchful stars.

He didn’t know where he was, but whatever world he was now in seemed content to leave him be, quiet and alone. Until a crackling in the woods made him jerk his head that direction, searching the woods for any sign of movement, anything that would threaten him.

Nothing came.

He closed his eyes again, barely, leaving a slit open to see the line of trees. He waited, took a breath, long and deep, let it out, took another. He tried his best to remain calm, to keep his heart from pounding inside his chest, despite his rather ungraceful descent into this world. He had no idea what Realm he was in, which of the Nine he might have landed in.

He hadn’t known what would happen when he let go, when he fell away from his brother and his desperate attempts to keep him by his side. But here, now, he wondered what was to become of him, if he would ever be able to go back. It was the only home he had known, and somewhere low in his chest, hidden beneath the bile that rose at the thought of returning to the people who had hurt and betrayed him, he realized he would miss it.

Everything was different, now. He had lost his family, fake though it was, and had traveled to a world he did not recognize. A new paradise, something… unexpected.

More crackling came from the woods, and this time he was ready. He reached for his belt, where his throwing knives were, and grasped one carefully, loosely, just in case. Before he could react, however, he felt, more than saw, someone watching him from beyond the tree line. Soon there were more, several pairs of eyes staring out of the trees. Before he could think to count them, or react, they had stepped forward into the moonlight.

Bows were raised and aimed at him. He stilled.

There were more than he could take on alone, even with his magic, and he was left sprawled on the ground, defenseless, broken from his fall. He took stock of his situation, his options. There were eight of them, at least, not counting whoever might still be hiding in the trees. He released his grip on his throwing knife, sitting up very slowly, his hands raised in a silent salute of peace. He glanced between them; their gaze was steady, arms unshaking, aim true.

One asked him something in a language he did not recognize, a question, clearly, and he shook his head. He was asked another question, the words slightly different, but the intonation was still the same. Again, he shook his head. Finally, glancing between his companions and their new captive, the man spoke in a language he recognized: one of Men.

“What are you doing here? Who are you?”

Loki kept quiet for a moment, glancing around at the circle of hunters. Lying did not seem like the best course of action, despite his natural inclination towards it, and the look his captors were wearing spoke to how much trouble he would be in, if they caught him in a lie. He inclined his head, slowly, a move of subjugation, and spoke to the man who was questioning him.

“My name is Loki, Laufeyson.” He said softly. “I do not know how I came to be here, but here I am.”

The archer stared at him, surprised by his forthrightness, perhaps, or the lack of details his explanation provided. In any case, he strode forward, lowering his bow until it was aimed, harmlessly, at Loki’s feet. He inspected him closely before he jerked his chin up, indicating that Loki should stand.

“Laufeyson.” He repeated, the word sounding odd on his tongue. “That is not a name I am familiar with.”

Loki stood, again slowly, carefully, wincing softly as his knees took his weight, his whole body aching from the impact of his arrival. Another archer came up closer, also lowering their bow, hands flicking out to search him. He didn’t resist, and instead moved his hands out of the way further, so they could reach the throwing knives at his waist, and inspect the rest of him. Once satisfied, they stepped away, out of reach, and he returned his attention to the man before him.

“I would not expect you to be familiar,” he said. “I am… not from here.”

The archer who had spoken to him raised an eyebrow curiously, but said no more. Instead he turned to his company, again speaking in the language that Loki could not understand. It was a command, given easily; whoever he was, he was clearly in charge. Loki waited until he was pushed forward by the archer that had searched him, directing him toward their captain and the woods.

“Do I not get to know your name?” He asked, suddenly curious over whom this character was.

He had long, silvery blond hair, and an air to him that was unmistakably royal. Loki recognized it almost at once, and it was easy to see why he was the one in charge.

Blue eyes narrowed dangerously as he looked over Loki one more time before he bound the brunet’s wrists with a fine cord.

“Legolas.” The word was spoken almost as a command, the tone harsh, cold.

Loki inclined his head, realizing after a pause that it was, in fact, his name. As he heard several of the company repeat it as they continued toward the tree line, alerting their leader to whatever was awaiting them past the dark branches.

“Legolas.” Loki repeated. “A pleasure.”

The man spun on his heel.

The guard behind him pushed him again, a hand on the small of his back and he moved easily, following Legolas’s lead into the trees. The moon was swallowed up by the tall boughs above him, and soon he was being led along darkened paths. He kept his ears open, attentive to the sounds around him, the almost silent movements of the company through the trees, despite the dark. He wondered, not for the first time, what would become of him here, now.

The company that surrounded him was more familiar than their surroundings, and something about them tugged at a memory he had from long ago, something that stirred and prodded at the back of his mind, begging to be remembered. He tried to place it, thinking back over their brief interaction. The language was one he thought he recognized, but could not understand, it sounded familiar, like words pulled from a lullaby, or a dream. Some story his mother had told him when he was young.

Another aspect suddenly struck him: the elegantly pointed ears of the company around them. A thought came to him then, and he tilted his head in question, wondering if now was the appropriate time to ask. He decided against it, curious where they were headed, and followed in his captor’s wake. He wondered if perhaps, once they got wherever it was Legolas was leading them, he might get some answers to the questions he had. He doubted, however, that they would come without a price, and readied himself for the inevitable interrogation that would follow their arrival.

“May I ask where you are leading me?” He said finally, the silence no longer bearable.

As they passed through a small clearing, a patch of moonlight fell and he could see Legolas ahead of him, turning his head slightly to gaze back at him before he continued. He said something, again in that language, to one of the archers closest to him, a female with red hair, who turned and spoke to the guard behind him.

Loki was given another slight push before Legolas replied. “We are taking you to see the king.”

Loki rolled his eyes as they passed back into darkness, unaware and uncaring if any of them could see the expression on his face. He had had quiet enough of royalty to last him several lifetimes. Whoever this king was, he was not eager to meet him. But perhaps, unlike the other members of a royal family he was no longer a part of, this one would be more reasonable. At least, that was his hope.

* * *

The path they took through the woods was winding and uncertain. Surefooted though Legolas and his company were, Loki stumbled often, and was continually prodded in the back to move forward. He held no ill-will over the treatment he was receiving from his captors; it was to be expected when unwelcome, well, not _guests_ , but intruders were found on what seemed to be their doorstep.

He was taken along a circuitous, seemingly labyrinth-like route through the trees, broken only occasionally by patches of moonlight, otherwise left in darkness, his imagination filling in the gaps of what surrounded him. Another hard turn and a winding path downward led them to a long stone bridge, the soft rush from the waterfall to their left the only sound in the forest, aside from the feather-light steps of Legolas and his archers.

Legolas nodded to the two guards who stood on either side a high stone doorway, and they nodded in response, opening the doors for the small party to enter. Legolas dismissed the rest of his company with a word and a wave of his hand, leaving Loki alone with just the man and his redheaded companion. She caught his arm and guided him forward, her eyes carefully trained ahead, and Legolas led the way along more stone pathways until they found themselves at a short flight of steps.

The redhead pulled Loki up short as he moved to follow Legolas up the stairs, her grip stronger than Loki would have guessed by her stature. He froze, inclining his head in silent apology as Legolas ascended the stairs himself.

A soft conversation followed, between Legolas and someone out of Loki’s sight, before the man turned back toward them, motioning them up. “Tauriel.”

The redhead inclined her head and guided Loki up the stairs; stopping at the top as she turned him over to Legolas, staying at the top stair, her stance relaxed, but read for action should she be needed.

Loki’s eyes climbed along another set of stairs to see a large throne, antlers and carved stone springing up from the floor of the intimate throne room. Seated atop it was the king, whom Loki placed at once as Legolas’s rather, the resemblance was too striking for anything other than a familial connection.

He bowed his head automatically, keeping his eyes trained on the piercing blue ones that watching him from their perch.

“Legolas tells me you were found on the borders of our lands.” He spoke, voice reverberating off the walls around them, echoing off into the rest of the palace, the rich voice ringing out around the prisoner. “How came you so close to our borders without our knowledge?”

Loki bit the tip of his tongue before he could reply flippantly, lowering his gaze away from the searching one directed toward him.

“I do not know, my lord.”

The king flicked an eyebrow upward, but his features remained neutral: Loki had made the right choice, using the honorific.

“Tell me what happened to you. You say you do not know how you came to be here, but you must have some memory. You knew your name, after all, and have a civil tongue in your head.”

Loki couldn’t keep back a sly smirk at that, and dared another glance to the king, the thought from before back again to tug at his mind, trying to remind him of something. He eyes narrowed as they caught on his crown, the latticework of branches and berries stirring something else in his mind.

Finally, as the king rose from his throne, Loki’s memory returned, and his eyes went wide.

“My Lord Thranduil.”

The king’s eyes snapped back up onto him, eyebrow raised once more, his lips parting in a tiny breath before they pressed together firmly once more.

“I apologize I did not recognize you sooner.” He dipped his head, mind spinning with the realization of where he was, of where he had fallen to in his desperate bid for escape.

“How do you know me?” He asked, sweeping closer, head canting to one side. “You are no Dwarf, nor Elf, but you do not speak as a Man would.”

He caught the tip of Loki’s chin on his forefinger, tipping his head back up, eyes narrowed in question as his brows drew together, leaning into the brunet’s space.

“What _are you_?” He hissed.

“I am of ice and hatred.” Loki spoke without thinking, his spell flickering for the briefest of moments, eyes flashing crimson. “I am of Jotunheim.”

Thranduil pulled away from him as though Loki had burned him, his calm mask replaced with one of wild bewilderment, eyes wide and lips parted in a snarl. He quickly schooled his features once more, sweeping back up to his throne, giving a flick of his hand.

“To the dungeons.” He barked, Legolas giving him a curious look, but not arguing. “Let us see if that will not loosen your lying tongue.”

“I do not tell you a lie.” Loki hurried to continue, Thranduil pausing on the steps to his throne. “I fell. From Asgard. I do not know how I came to—”

“ _Enough_.” Thranduil hissed, leaning forward as he snarled. “Your fairytales mean little to me. Think of your answer before dawn and _perhaps_ you will be spared.”

Loki opened his mouth to argue more, anger curling in him as Legolas grabbed his arm, dragging him back toward where Tauriel waited, taking his other arm as they dragged him down the stairs and off deeper into the palace.

Thranduil returned to his throne, sinking gracefully into the seat as they watched him be dragged away, his expression once more masked and emotionless, but his eyes were intense as they followed Loki’s descent into the dungeons, a finger stroking along his chin in thought as he watched them go.

Loki had been right.

Answers would not come without a price.


	2. Land and Time is Left to Float Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki bowed his head and kept silent, a rush of sudden unease washing over him. He did not want to prove his heritage; did not wish any other to see his true face, no matter what their race or station. He could not stand to be called monster once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Helkaer - An elvish term that means "icy one"

A night in the dungeons had done nothing to loosen their prisoner’s tongue.

Legolas brought him again before the king, pushing him roughly onto his knees as Thranduil descended from his perch, dismissing the other attendants in the throne room with a wave of his hand. Again he wore the decadent robes and elaborate crown, and Loki caught himself wondering if he had done so on purpose—a subtle display of power.

He paced out a circle around his captive before he stopped, peering down at him.

“I will ask you again. What are you?”

Loki took a breath before responding, gaze meeting Thranduil’s.

“And I tell you again, my lord, I am of Asgard and Jotunn. A bastard son to both and outcast from all.”

Loki stayed perfectly still as a thin, cold blade was pressed to his throat, a growl coming from the elf behind him.

“You lie.” Legolas spat.

“Legolas, _ego_.” Thranduil’s gaze did not leave Loki’s, but he dismissed his son with a wave of his hand.

There was only the briefest of pauses before the blade was removed from his throat, and the elf swept away.

Thranduil’s expression remained carefully blank as he considered his captive, eyes narrowing briefly.

“Let us pretend, for a moment, that I believe you.” He whispered, beginning to circle him again. “What proof have you that you are what you claim?”

“I thought my lord said he believed me,” Loki smirked. “Is your own opinion not proof enough?”

“Do not play games with me, _frost giant_.” Thranduil hissed into his ear, causing Loki to flinch forward, away from the sudden, overwhelming presence at his back. “I do not take kindly to silver tongues when their intent is to trick and deceive.”

Loki bowed his head and kept silent, a rush of sudden unease washing over him. He did not _want_ to prove his heritage; did not wish any other to see his true face, no matter what their race or station.

He could not stand to be called monster once more.

“I left my life behind me. I have no token to show you that would prove what I say. All I have you see before you.”

Thranduil came to stand in front of him again, an eyebrow arched.

“I asked for proof. The manner in which I receive it is entirely upon you. With no trinket, then, there must surely be another way.”

It was a challenge, Loki knew, and he resisted taking the bait. He didn’t _have_ to prove anything to the elf king. He could bide his time, try to discover a way to escape this Realm. If he had fallen _in_ , there must be a way to fall _out_.

“You seem reluctant to save yourself.” Thranduil commented, pulling him from his thoughts. “Perhaps more time in my dungeons will—”

“Wait, my lord.” Loki interrupted, unwilling to reveal himself, but also aware that angering Thranduil more would only lead to trouble. “Allow me to try and convince you. Would magic not prove what I say?”

Thranduil sneered. “Parlor tricks will not suffice, _Laufeyson_. I am not ignorant of your Realms, nor am I wholly unfamiliar with your name. I know your father, the Frost Tyrant; I know what horrors he unleashed on the worlds of Men.”

Loki flinched at the term _father_ , and Thranduil’s lip curled at the corner in a cruel imitation of a smile.

“Bedtime stories told to keep the young in check.” He continued. “But I have lived long enough to know they are not merely stories. Blue monsters with a touch of frost, cold enough to burn—that _is_ what you are, is it not, Laufeyson? _A monster_.”

Loki was on his feet before he could stop himself, eyes flashing crimson as he crowded in on Thranduil, the elf’s eyes going wide for the briefest second before they narrowed again, a hand shooting out to catch Loki by his throat.

“It appears you _do_ require more time in the cells.” Thranduil spoke calmly, canting his head to one side in interest. “I am more than willing to give it to you.”

He threw Loki back, the brunet skidding back toward the stairs, only stopping when a boot collided with his back, tumbling him forward again.

“Legolas, please show our guest back to his room.” Thranduil spoke, gliding back up the steps to his perch. “It appears he still needs time to reflect.”

Loki was wrenched to his feet, panting as he glared up at the elf king. The blond reclined on his throne, the barest hint of a smile touching his lips as he stared down at the Asgardian.

“Tales tell of your people’s long life. Shall we test that?” He waved them away, sneering. “Your stubbornness will shatter with time, if with nothing else.”

* * *

 “You would do well to answer the king’s questions.” Tauriel spoke through the bars of his cell, her back to him, her voice low. “I understand your reluctance, but lying will only make his more terrible.”

Loki sat with his back to the wall of his cell, head tipped back to look at the darkened ceiling, searching the shadows. Tauriel had appeared a few moments before, making her rounds, he assumed, and had stayed.

“What concern it is of yours what I do or do not tell the king?” Loki asked. “Would you see me saved?”

Tauriel didn’t reply immediately, and after several long moments, Loki thought perhaps she wouldn’t reply at all. She glanced over her shoulder at him, before turning her attention back to the halls.

“The king is much changed, of late. I would see his mind at ease. In this, at least, if nothing else.”

“Was he not always so harsh with his words, then?” Loki queried, snorting. “He seems to have perfected how to rule with an iron fist.”

“You would do well to hold your tongue.” She hissed. “Our king is gracious in ways you cannot imagine, kind in unfathomable depths… He has been hardened as the gems of the earth to a sharp brilliance.”

She stopped short, catching herself getting carried away, and adjusted her stance, her hands clasped behind her back, back straight and shoulders rigid.

“You care for him, then?” Loki teased. “You seem quite passionate about your king.”

He stood, slowly, and stalked closer to his cell door.

“Tell me, Tauriel, is he passionate? Have you learned how he loves?” He lowered his voice to a growl, whispering into her delicately pointed ear. “Does he rule as fiercely in his bed as he does from his throne?”

Tauriel spun to grab ahold of his collar, slamming him into the bars, her other hand pressing a dagger into his ribs.

“You know _nothing_ , _Helkaer_.” She growled. “Forget what I said. Resist, if you desire, it will only serve to amuse our king more when he breaks you.”

She drew away quickly, stalking away down the winding path that led from his cell, and Loki watched her go with a smirk, pleased he had managed to rattle at least one of the elves. He returned to his seat on the floor, touching his forehead gingerly, a bruise already blooming from where he had cracked his skull against the thick bars of the cell.

He leaned his head back once more, sighing deeply, and closed his eyes.

“It seems you have upset my Captain.” A hum followed the statement, and Loki lowered his gaze back to the door to find the king standing outside of his cell, watching him curiously. “I will expect it not to happen a second time.”

“You came all the way down here just to tell me that?” Loki snorted.

“No.” Thranduil paused, considering him for a moment before he continued. “I am here to offer you a compromise.”

Loki sat up straighter, smiling, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “And what compromise would that be, my lord? What offer have you come to make me? Or are you here for threats?”

“I would see you, away from prying eyes.” Thranduil spoke after a pause, his voice low. “I too understand the desire to…hide that which I am not proud of.”

Loki canted his head to one side, looking the elf king over.

His crown was now gone, replaced by a simple circlet, and his long robes had been exchanged for a simpler, yet still regal ensemble.

 Loki flicked an eyebrow at him, curious the sort of depths he would sink to, in order to get what he wanted.

“I find it hard to imagine that there is anything of yours that would cause embarrassment.” He replied, taking a slow, sweeping look over the king, his gaze having the desire effect.

Thranduil stiffened, like a bird ruffling its feathers as it preened. He inclined his head slightly and stepped closer to the door.

“Yet, there is more to me than meets the eye… More than you would see from a mere visit to my throne room.” He teased.

Loki chuckled, pushing himself to his feet, stalking toward the door.

“And where might one find out such things?” He asked, inclining his head. “If not in a throne, where else would a king rule from?”

Thranduil arched an eyebrow, turning into him further.

“That would depend entirely upon what sort of king you wished to be.” He replied with a tiny smirk. “One that rules ruthlessly; or one that moves in secret.”

Loki chuckled, sliding his hands through the cell bars, resting his throbbing head against the cool bars.

“What sort of king are you, my lord Thranduil?” He asked, peering up through his lashes, canting his head to one side. “The kind that resorts to flattery and seduction in order to get what brutality and force could not?”

Thranduil’s eyes flashed, a feral growl leaving him as he leaned in, grabbing Loki’s wrist and pulling him flush into the cell door.

“I did not come here on some frivolous whim. I came to offer you a safe, secluded place to prove what you claim.” His tone changed, lower and softer than before. “I would see your secrets for myself.”

“How selfish of you, my lord.” Loki chuckled. “Would you hide away such an exotic creature?”

“I would lock you away for all eternity if I saw fit.” He hissed. “You are no marvel, you are a _monster_. I will not have you ruin my forest with a glacial touch.”

“I did not come here to _destroy you_.” Loki growled. “I came here out of desperation, unexpected and unwanted. I fell into your world from my own to escape. To _disappear_. I hold no ill will for you, but I will if you call me monster again.”

“What else would I call you?” The blond asked. “Until I have my proof, I cannot call you by your true title.”

“Then you will be sorely disappointed.” Loki pulled his wrist away.

“Not as disappointed as I am to not see such a rare and exotic creature as you, Loki Laufeyson.” Thranduil spoke in an undertone. “I do desire to see what it is you would hide so meticulously.”

“Will you grant me my freedom in exchange?”

Thranduil considered him for a long moment, eyes narrowing minutely. “I will consider it.”

“Consider it?”

Thranduil gave him a sly smile, inclining his head. “Perhaps I will find you too captivating to release. You said yourself I am selfish. Perhaps I will keep you for myself.”

“Kept as a bird in a cage, to sing for my lord when he bids me?” Loki snorted. “I would rather die.”

“I would ask more than a mere song from you.” Thranduil hummed. “I would see all your secrets laid bare.”

“Then release me, and I will show you the monster you wish to tame.”

Thranduil seemed to consider it for a moment, an eyebrow arched before he smiled, eyes alight before he tipped his chin up, a silent challenge to the man in his cells.

Loki returned the expression, pressing against the bars, cursing them silently. He pushed magic into his voice, locking eyes with the king.

“ _Release me_.”

Thranduil’s lips parted, pupils dilating, and a hand reached jerkily for the lock before he stopped, his expression hardening, eyes narrowing as he drew himself up, bristling.

“I thought I made my opinion of parlor tricks perfectly clear.”

Loki smiled, hiding his displeasure over his spell’s failure with a chuckle.

“You must confess even _you_ are impressed by _that_ trick.” He teased.

Thranduil pulled away, a low snarl leaving him before he could gloat more, sweeping off down the hall.

“Come see me again, my lord!” Loki called after him. “Perhaps I will sing more sweetly on your next visit!”


	3. When Earth Collides with All the Space Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He sat on the low bench carved from the wall of the cell, crossing his legs up under him, and closing his eyes. He concentrated on the elf king, seeking him out among the winding halls and passages of his kingdom. He floated along, mind drifting down twisting corridors, past elves that could not see or sense him. He smiled to himself as he danced around them, flitting through rooms to find the king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight changes to Loki's powers: I see his ability to make copies as another way to, basically, astral project, and I took advantage of that here. In Tolkien lore, we know there are "seeing stones", or Palantíri, that allow a form of communication and mental connection between two or more people. In keeping with that, Loki's powers here have been changed slightly to accommodate the "Middle Earth Rules" (if you will) about this type of magic.

The king did not come to see him a second time. Instead, he gave him what Loki affectionately titled ‘ _the silent treatment’_. Tauriel also did not return, keeping her distance from the dungeons entirely. Instead, he was brought food and drink by a silent elf that refused to make eye contact, and never lingered very long.

Loki thought, as a week dragged on into two, that perhaps Thranduil intended to make good on his threat to lock him away for eternity.

With the continued cold treatment, Loki decided to take matters into his own hands.

He sat on the low bench carved from the wall of the cell, crossing his legs up under him, and closing his eyes. He concentrated on the elf king, seeking him out among the winding halls and passages of his kingdom. He floated along, mind drifting down twisting corridors, past elves that could not see or sense him. He smiled to himself as he danced around them, flitting through rooms to find the king.

Instead of perched upon his throne, however, Loki found him in his personal chambers, again lacking his ornate crown, not even wearing his circlet. His clothing resembled the simple tunic and leggings his son and Tauriel wore, more for practical use than for pomp, and his hair was tied away from his face in a simple braid that spilled down his back.

He was replacing two swords onto a low stand, the elegantly curved blades etched with runes and swirling patterns, handled with great care by the king as he settled them into their resting places.

Loki pushed, trying to fully materialize his copy, but found he could not. Instead, he settled for speaking to the king directly, voice echoing off the walls, distant and ethereal.

“Have you been off slaying dragons while I was left to rot in your cells?”

Thranduil spun around, sword slashing through the air.

Loki laughed, watching as Thranduil searched the room, sword at the ready, a snarl on his lips.

“More parlor tricks, Laufeyson?” He asked, sweeping the room with his eyes. “Surely you learned your lesson from the last time.”

“Well, when you leave me alone, I have to find ways to entertain myself, my lord.”

“Where are you?” He hissed.

“Right where you left me, my lord.” Loki chuckled. “I must obey my king’s commands, mustn’t I?”

Thranduil relaxed, if only marginally, and replaced his sword onto its stand, joining the first

“How are you both places at once, then?” He asked, eyes sweeping the room again, lingering on the spot where Loki watched him. “It has been quite some time since I met someone capable of such a trick.”

“Ah, but if I tell you all my secrets, then what will we have to talk about?” He teased.

“Oh, I am sure we could find something to speak of.” Thranduil replied. “I doubt this is the only secret you have up your sleeve.”

“Would you ruin the surprise, and have me tell all?”

Thranduil’s lip curled up at the corner, for a brief moment, before he schooled his features once more. He pulled the tie from the end of his braid and began running his fingers through the woven strands, sifting them back into a curtain of frosted gold.

“Where did you learn such a trick, then? If you will not tell me how it works, surely you can at least tell me how you came to perform it?”

Loki did not reply at once, his mind racing with memories of his mother and the magic she had taught him. He had learned so much from her, not just about the mystic arts, but about his heritage, the history of Asgard, the trails and suffering that had befallen them before Odin had finally, _finally_ been able to have peace across the Realms.

She had also taught him about Jotunheim.

The frozen wasteland that was his birthplace, the monsters that roamed there, the beasts and brutal frost giants that took no prisoners and brooked no argument. She had taught him to respect them, to see them as creatures not to be destroyed, but to be explored and understood; just as she had taught him to respect the denizens of the other Realms.

She had taught him about elves, too, about Thranduil and his people: the wood elves that walked in starlight and spoke in a tongue both beautiful and beguiling. The icy king on a carven throne, untouchable and unyielding.

Loki was pulled back to the present by a pair of frigid blue eyes looking at him, searching the air for any trace of his presence. He felt suddenly naked, exposed, as though Thranduil could see him back in his cell: lonely and cold.

“My mother.” He spoke at last, lilting, teasing tone gone now. “She taught me many things.”

“The lady Frigga?” Thranduil arched an eyebrow, and Loki felt something in him shake at the sound of her name. “I was not aware she knew such tricks.”

“She did well to hide them, then.” Loki managed, already losing his concentration.

His vision of the room narrowed onto the king as he swept his hair back over his shoulder, the long curtain of it once more draping down his back. He turned away from his audience, fingers flickering over the ties on his tunic as he loosened them, before he started to remove it.

Loki stared.

“You are aware I can see you, correct?”

Thranduil paused, throwing a small smirk over his shoulder before he continued.

“You are aware it makes little difference, correct?”

It was another challenge, Loki knew, but he still reflexively looked away as Thranduil slid the tunic from his shoulders, catching it before it could fall to the ground. Loki allowed himself another look as Thranduil folded the tunic, laying it carefully over the back of a chair, before he took a seat.

He was all long lines and creamy skin, taught muscles jumping with each movement, unblemished and undeniably strong. Loki had seen firsthand the strength of the elven king, and knew that his deceptively lithe form was capable of much more than one might think. Thranduil sat on the edge of the chair, bending to work on his boots, his hair slithering over a shoulder, the bend of his spine visible through his pale skin.

“Ah, so you _can_ be rendered silent.” He teased, flicking a glance over his shoulder. “I thought there would be no stilling that silver tongue.”

“There would be no stilling it, were I here in person.” Loki replied, not missing a beat. “But alas, it cannot do as it pleases to your lovely skin.”

Thranduil’s fingers stilled against the lacing of his boots for a brief moment before he continued to loosen them, and Loki chalked that up as a victory. He grinned, watching as Thranduil sat back and toed his boots off, sighing softly before he stood and started to fiddle with the laces on his leggings, casting Loki another sly glance.

“Do you intent to haunt me all night?” He asked; arching an eyebrow as he moved to a set of doors built into the wall, opening them to reveal the elegant robes that Loki was used to seeing him wear.

“Is there somewhere else my lord would rather have me haunt?” He asked instead, drifting across the space to linger against Thranduil’s back.

He caught the faint shiver of the elven king, the way his head turned slightly, eyes searching the air once more for something that was not there. He returned his gaze to the closet, fingers flickering over the fine fabrics before he chose a robe, removing it from the closet and looking over it with a small smile.

The robe was of silver and green, patterns of leaves and branches woven skillfully into the fabric in soft, barely-visible patterns. It was simpler than what he usually wore, but still befitting of his position as king of the woodland realm.

“Blue would look better with your eyes.” Loki teased. “Green would suit me far better.”

“You do dress in similar styles.” Thranduil chuckled, draping the robe over the end of the bed, fingers lingering against the fabric. “Our fashion would suit you.”

Loki hummed, eyeing the outfit as Thranduil began twisting his hair up and away from his face, securing it with a thin strip of supple leather.

“Is that an invitation?” He asked.

“Perhaps a compromise?” Thranduil countered, collecting his robe and moving away down a narrow side passage, calling over his shoulder. “If you tell me how you do that trick, I may give you something to wear that does not stink of the cells.”

Loki frowned, a retort ready on his tongue, when he heard the grating of a key in the lock of his cell, and quickly pulled away, the last thing he saw was Thranduil tossing a smirk over his shoulder before he vanished around a corner at the end of the passage.

Loki opened his eyes, now back in his cell, the sudden severing of the connection leaving him dizzy and short of breath. He turned to look at the door to his cell, arching an eyebrow when he saw Legolas standing there, holding it open for him.

“You will come with me.”

Loki stood; gingerly putting weight on his legs, aware of the uneasiness in his gait as he moved to the door.

“Where are we going?”

“The king would speak with you.”

Loki inclined his head, holding out his hands for Legolas to bind before he was led from the cells, catching sight of Tauriel, sulking in an archway above them. He turned his gaze onto her, throwing her a wink, and was pleased to see her spin around and march off before he could do more.

“Your father has been gone of late, has he not?” Loki began, curious now where the king had been during his time away from the palace.

“He has many duties to see to. He cannot be expected to cater to the whims of a single prisoner.”

Loki smirked, happy to have hit a nerve, even if he didn’t get the answer he was looking for. It seemed everyone here had at least one raw spot he could prod at, and with enough coaxing, perhaps that raw emotion would overwhelm them; set them on edge enough he could make good his escape.

“Slaying dragons?”

Legolas paused for perhaps the span of a heartbeat, his head involuntarily jerking toward Loki before he caught himself, stilling, continuing down the steps that led toward the king’s throne room.

“You would do well not to speak of such foul creatures here.” He said instead, voice low enough that it did not echo around them. “Elves remember more deeply than most; we recall what we lost, and yet mourn for our fallen.”

An idea struck Loki then, one he had not had until that moment, a sudden realization that had the pit of his stomach turning in knots he didn’t approve of.

“Your mother is one of them, I take it.”

Legolas stopped again, this time turning to look at the brunet, his face a rigid mask, so like his father’s that the resemblance was uncanny. Blue eyes met green for a handful of seconds, but it was all the time Loki needed to get his answer.

The queen was dead.

He inclined his head, breaking eye contact to look at the ground, his voice soft as he spoke.

“I was not aware. I apologize.”

“I do not want your pity.” Legolas spat, tugging at his bound hands as he continued to move, Loki following obediently.

“I do not give it.” Loki replied, voice still low, soft, as gentle as he could make it. “But you do have my sympathy. I too know what it is like to lose a mother. It is not a pain I would wish on anyone; friend or foe.”

Legolas didn’t reply, but Loki caught the way he glanced over his shoulder, and the tiny nod he gave, a silent acceptance of the sentiment.

He wanted to know more, to ask how long the queen had been gone, how long the king had ruled alone, but he thought better of it, pushing the thought aside in favor of another, his gaze still lowered, head bent in a sign of subjugation and respect.

When they passed the throne, towering above them, and continued along another side passage, Loki’s pace slowed, and Legolas looked over his shoulder at him, an eyebrow raised in silent question.

“Are we not to see your father?”

“Yes. But not here.” Legolas continued, tugging Loki along. “He wishes to speak with you privately.”

Loki’s eyebrows rocketed up his forehead, and he couldn’t stop the smirk that slid onto his lips, a faint spark of pride flickering into life in his chest.

This would make the second time the king had asked for a private audience, away, as he had put it, from prying eyes. Loki would have preened, had he been free to do so, and settled instead on a smug smile, head lifting, chin raised in defiance of the other elves that stepped aside to allow their prince and his prisoner to pass unhindered.

Perhaps he was making more progress with the king than he had first thought.


	4. Befriending Fate's Alluring Way of Putting Us to Shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki poured himself more wine, toasting the king before taking a slow drink. As the liquid slid down his throat, he let the glamor fall away, ivory skin bleeding to azure, lines rising in swirling patterns that told of his heritage, his people’s histories. He waited until he knew the transformation was complete before he lowered his glass, smiling, canting his head to one side.
> 
> “Well, Forest King? What do you think of your Frost Giant?”

Quite as expected, Thranduil was once more dressed in his royal finery: long, layered robes and a silver circlet gracing his brow. He was pouring wine into two fluted goblets, posture carefully indifferent as Legolas and Loki entered his chambers.

Legolas said nothing, merely unbound Loki’s hands, bowed to his father, and turned on his heel to exit the room swiftly.

Loki waited until the door had shut behind the Prince before he smiled, clasping his hands behind his back, looking around the room curiously.

“Getting comfortable, are you?” Thranduil asked, offering him a goblet.

“Well, it is my second time visiting you in your personal chambers.” Loki teased, taking the goblet and sipping the sweet, rich wine. “I thought it only right to familiarize myself with the surroundings.”

“And yet I cannot do the same with you?” Thranduil asked, looking him over closely. “Am I not allowed to familiarize myself with my surroundings?”

Loki spread his hands wide, smiling brightly. “What would you know of me?”

“Everything.” Thranduil replied without missing a beat, taking a long, slow look at his captive. “I would know all your secrets. All your impossible mysteries.”

Loki arched an eyebrow, tilting his chin up in challenge. He grinned, the expression slowly spreading onto his lips. Thranduil arched an eyebrow in response, canting his head to one side.

“Perhaps I will show you, after all.” He hummed, heat pooling in his stomach as he took another long sip of wine, licking his lips. “Will you promise me my freedom?”

“I promise to consider it.” Thranduil replied with a wicked grin. “But what you show me will determine what I do with you.”

Loki chuckled, draining his glass, setting it on Thranduil’s desk. The king quickly finished his as well, refilling both goblets.

“With me? Not _to_ me?” Loki chuckled. “I’m hurt!”

“You could be.” Thranduil said simply, smirking into his wine. “But that will depend on you.”

Loki’s eyes flashed as he took another drink, a hum rumbling low in his chest. He kept silent for a moment before he inclined his head, giving the king a small mock bow.

“What will you have me show you first, then?” He asked, canting his head to one side, exposing his throat.

Thranduil paused his goblet on its way to his lips, flicking his gaze between Loki’s bright eyes and his throat, then took another long drink.

“Your eyes flash in different colors, I have noticed when you are angry or perturbed.” Thranduil spoke, moving closer. “Why is that?”

Loki glanced back into his goblet, the dark red liquid taunting him from the depths of the elegantly etched crystal.

“As you said, there are things I wish to hide. That is… one of them.”

Thranduil inclined his head. “I will make you a bargain, then.”

Loki cocked an eyebrow at him, drinking again, silently waiting for him to continue.

“If you will show me what you hide, I will do the same.”

Loki’s other eyebrow rose to meet the first, the goblet lowered slowly from his lips back to the desk.

“Why would you do that?” He asked. “A king making bargains with a monster makes little sense indeed.”

Thranduil was silent for a long moment, draining his glass and refilling it again before he replied, gaze trained on his goblet as he ran his thumb along the rim of it.

“I know what a terrible thing a secret can be. If you are, as you say not of this world, then our secrets are safe with one another.” He chuckled, flicking his gaze up onto Loki for a moment before he looked away again. “Who would believe a Frost Giant and a Forest King?”

Loki chuckled, draining his glass only to have it refilled once more.

“Likely no one, at least, not one of us about the other.” He chuckled, moving around the desk to stand beside Thranduil, perching on the edge of the desk. “Jötunn eyes are crimson. Was that not in the stories you heard?”

Thranduil looked him over curiously, a faint smile tugging at his lips before he schooled his expression once more.

“I had heard such stories of their distinctive features. But I prefer to see things first-had.” He smiled. “Do you not agree?”

Loki chuckled, taking another long drink, his whole body much lighter than it had been in a very long time.

“I most certainly do.” He hummed, leaning into the king’s space. “However, I have shown you my eyes and you have yet to return the favor.”

Thranduil glanced at him from the corner of his eye, shifting closer as well, topping off Loki’s wine before he did the same with his own.

“I will show you in stages.” Thranduil replied, gaze trained on his glass once more. “As you show me, so will I show you.”

He looked up then, and Loki’s lips parted in surprise as he saw the milky-white left eye looking back at him. It was only a brief glimpse, a quick flash and then a glance away, but Loki still had to catch himself from reaching out, his fingers clenching against the glass before he relaxed, inclining his head.

“May I ask—?”

“After.” Thranduil cut him off “It will… require some explanation.”

Loki nodded, looking back at his goblet. He rolled around the idea as he swirled the wine in his glass, biting the tip of his tongue to keep his thoughts in check. He was tempted, in all honesty, to forgo Thranduil’s offer and rebuff him once more. However, the wine was making his thoughts and tongue loose, and his curiosity was bubbling up out of him. Before he could stop himself, he slid from the desk, catching Thranduil’s attention, and downed the last of his wine before he let out a breath, smiling.

“Are you ready to see the monster inside of me?”

Thranduil inclined his head, deeply, and extended his hand as invitation.

Loki poured himself more wine, toasting the king before taking a slow drink. As the liquid slid down his throat, he let the glamor fall away, ivory skin bleeding to azure, lines rising in swirling patterns that told of his heritage, his people’s histories. He waited until he knew the transformation was complete before he lowered his glass, smiling, canting his head to one side.

“Well, Forest King? What do you think of your Frost Giant?”

Thranduil’s lips were parted in surprise, his eyes wide as they drank in every detail available to him. His hand skittered out, knuckles brushing over the raised marks on his cheek, and Loki flinched away, Thranduil following the motion, eyebrows knitting together.

“I’ll burn you.” Loki warned.

Thranduil’s eyes flashed for a split second, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Elves do not feel the cold.”

Loki’s eyes fluttered as Thranduil’s thumb brushed over the raised lines on his forehead, leaning into the touch.

“At all?” He whispered, lips brushing over Thranduil’s palm.

“You are a bit cool to the touch.” He teased. “But not so cold that I would shy away from contact.”

Loki’s eyes flicked back open, crimson meeting piercing blue, and he sighed softly, cold breath whispering over the king’s wrist, a shiver running through him as he let out a rush of breath.

“Will you show me, now?” Loki asked after a long pause, the king’s fingers still tracing over the lines of his face.

“I will ask that you do not…comment, until I have the chance to explain.”

Loki inclined his head, and Thranduil slowly pulled away, keeping his gaze trained on Loki’s as he too let his glamor fade.

The effect was not immediate, but after a moment, a shimmer of heat-haze blossomed over Thranduil’s face, the skin peeling away to reveal scorched tendons and fiber-like ligaments that interwove in a hazardous web across his left cheek, his jaw visible through the pink flesh. The scarring continued up the side of his face, over his blinded eye and into his hairline, ragged edges like dragon fire.

Loki moved before he thought better of it, placing his hand near the mangled jaw, pushing until he knew the cold was coming from his hand in waves. Thranduil relaxed visibly, leaning into the touch without making contact, his eyes shutting for a long moment before they opened again.

As slowly as it had appeared, the scar faded in layers of new muscle and flesh, rebuilding itself up until nothing remained but flawless skin and crystalline eyes.

“You asked if I was out killing dragons while you sat in your cell.” He spoke softly. “I have fought them before… And I was left with what you saw.”

“Yet you hide it?”

Thranduil’s smile never reached his eyes.

“We elves are… vain creatures. Not in the ways of Men, but in ways… deeper and stronger than that. I am not ashamed that I survived that battle, but my people do not need a reminder of what we lost that day.” He averted his gaze, and it was the first time Loki had seen him look vulnerable. “ _I_ do not need the reminder.”

Loki shifted back into his human form, his hand finally coming up to cradle Thranduil’s jaw, brushing his thumb lightly over the high cheekbone, watching intently as the elf flinched before turning into the touch, sighing deeply.

“Does it hurt?”

“Not as much as it once did.”

Loki chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Then we are, the both of us, creatures marred in ways most would find unbearable. Yet we wear our scars with pride.”

“Yet we hide them.”

“To protect those we love.” Loki nodded. “To protect ourselves.”

Thranduil considered him for a long moment, Loki’s hand slowly falling away from his face back to his side, and the elven king took a small step forward, invading Loki’s space.

“Tell me, then. Why did you show me? We both know you could have refused… Yet tonight you did not.”

“Maybe it was your wine.” Loki shrugged, smirking. “Maybe it was the thought of seeing you so…laid bare. Whatever the reason, are you truly going to complain about it? You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

Thranduil chuckled, nodding. “So I did, Silvertongue… And yet, now I have it, I find I want more.”

Loki flicked an eyebrow at him, his smirk growing into a wide grin.

“Really now? And what more might you want?”


	5. I Want To Show You Just How Fascinating Kissing Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki stared up into the cold starlight, short of breath and swaddled in silken sheets, wondering how he had gotten where he now was—laid bare and pressed against the creamy side of Thranduil.  
> Right. He’d wanted more.  
> And Loki had been foolish enough to agree.

Loki stared up into the cold starlight, short of breath and swaddled in silken sheets, wondering how he had gotten where he now was—laid bare and pressed against the creamy side of Thranduil. The Elven king was surprisingly attentive in his aftercare, his fingers still twined with Loki’s, his breath warm and soft against the shell of his ear. His breathing was rhythmic and peaceful, fingers tightening every now and then, shifting closer and pressing more of his skin along Loki’s.

_Right._

_He’d wanted more._

_And Loki had been foolish enough to agree._

The kiss had been fascinating, really. Thranduil had taken control slowly, exploring, experimenting, taking his time before he claimed Loki’s mouth with his tongue. His hands were just as careful and curious, gliding over Loki in feather light touches.

Those touches had been intoxicating. Rather like the wine he had been served, the Elven King’s touch similarly ignited Loki’s blood, coursing through him like molten gold. Thranduil excited him in a way no one had before, the touches he received both gentle and forceful, speaking to the Elf’s life as both lover and fighter—warrior and king.

More intoxicating still had been the _words_. The taunts and whispers had drawn murmurs and moans of his own, throat dry and rough with use by the time he finally toppled over the edge, pure starlight filling his mind as a needy, keening cry of the king’s name left him.

Loki, with no little bit of pride, had heard Thranduil bite back a deep moan before he joined him in release, a sigh of his name breathed against the shell of his ear before Thranduil’s lips found his neck. They traced his pulse down to his shoulder, nibbling before he pulled away, kissing down Loki’s chest, peeking up at the Prince before he started licking him clean, lapping up the little droplets of white spattered across Loki’s abdomen.

“Oh, no, Thranduil, don’t…” Loki protested, tugging at the silver strands of his hair.

“Do your lovers not pleasure you with their mouths?” He asked, coming away when Loki tugged. “Do you wish for me to stop?”

Loki shook his head shyly, keep his eyes trained on Thranduil’s.

“Then why protest?” He hummed, scattering kisses over Loki’s hips.

“It’s… Beneath you.” He managed, keep his voice even. “To pleasure a prisoner at all, but especially…” He broke off into a cry as Thranduil bit the hollow of his hip.

“I show you this courtesy because I _wish to_. You did not compel me into this action. You did not trick me into it. Allow me to enjoy myself, and you will enjoy it as well… Unless you have any further complaints?”

Loki watched Thranduil’s head cant to the side, his weight completely off Loki as he gave the brunette a moment to consider. Loki’s heart, still pounding, had already decided, but his head took a bit longer to catch up, as he had left it drowning in starlight only moments before.

Loki released his grip on Thranduil’s hair and relaxed against the sheets.

Thranduil smirked and returned to his careful cleaning of creamy skin, humming in approval.

“Your tongue is obscene.” Loki huffed.

“Not what you called it earlier.” He teased, grinning as he pressed a kiss just below Loki’s navel. “Remind me what you screamed?”

Loki huffed, looking away.

Thranduil crawled up him, grinning wickedly, and caught his jaw in one hand, turning him back to face him.

“Will you claim you did not enjoy that?” He leaned in to murmur against the brunet’s lips, brushing their lengths together, a barely there drag of friction that made Loki jump. “Your body certainly told a different story, Prince.”

“ _A’maelamin!_ ” Loki gasped.

Thranduil pulled back with a start, eyes wide and ears tipped with pink. “ _What_ did you call me?”

Loki grinned triumphantly, coaxing Thranduil back with a hand on his hip, the other winding into his hair.

“My beloved.” Loki purred. “It was not just the history of the elves I studied. Your language is _beautiful_ , after all.”

Thranduil’s cheeks colored, his eyes averting, the idea that Loki had understood all he had said earlier, all he had _admitted_ , causing more embarrassment than he had expected.

“You do say such interesting things, my king.” Loki smirked. “Such _filthy_ things, too. The things you said you wanted to _do to me_ …”

“I did not know you would understand me when I… spoke so openly…” Thranduil admitted.

“Would you have spoken differently had you known?” He asked, a cold trickle of doubt pooling in his stomach.

“On the contrary, I would have been more explicit.” Thranduil smirked, shifting carefully to the side, pressing close to the brunet. “I would have described each lurid act I wanted to perform upon your pristine body.”

Loki growled, turning sinuously to look at Thranduil, only to find him slumbering.

 _Right. That was how he had gotten here_.

“How are you yet awake?” Thranduil grumbled, cracking an eye open. “I can feel each shiver you give as you remember my hands on you.”

“Then perhaps you should refresh my memory.” He hummed.

Thranduil chuckled, his breath tickling the ridge of Loki’s ear. “Perhaps I will.”

Loki rolled onto his side, tucking his hands up under the lush pillows, studying Thranduil’s face.

“Why did you take me to bed?”

“Because I wanted to.”

Thranduil inched closer, mirroring Loki’s posture, and smiled. He reached out to brush a stray strand of inky hair from his eyes.

“Is that so strange to imagine? That a kin would see a captivating creature and want to… Explore him?”

“It is when I’m the creature.” Loki pressed into the touches cautiously, ever anticipating harm.

“Not so.” Thranduil pressed closer, filling Loki’s vision with shimmering hair and crystalline eyes. “You are captivating in ways not even the Elfkings of old could understand. You are…”

Loki stopped him with a laugh, shaking his head. “You and your silver tongue.”

“More white than silver, now, I should imagine.” Thranduil teased, licking his lips.

Loki shivered, rumbling out a hum, and leaned in closer. “You said I was cool to the touch, yes?”

Thranduil nodded, arching an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Loki let his glamor fall away, blue skin stark against the pale sheets of the king’s bed. Thranduil’s gaze instantly went trailing along the clan lines etched on his skin. Loki slid his hand slowly up Thranduil’s abdomen and chest, earning a shiver and a soft gasp from the king.

“Too cold?” Loki teased, pressing closer, lips brushing over Thranduil’s jaw.

“Just enough cold.” Thranduil sighed, pressing into the touch, arching into Loki. “In fact, if there were more…”

Loki chuckled, ducking down to press a light kiss to Thranduil’s sternum. He followed with a quick swipe of his tongue, and Thranduil’s hands shot up to cradle his head.

“I would have your mouth on me, Silvertongue.”

“Where, My King?”

Thranduil growled, rolling over, dragging Loki on top of him

“ _Everywhere_.”


	6. So Rest Assured I Have the Key to Every Opening; To Every Wishing-Well That's Deep Enough to Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil’s hand stilled, blue eyes meeting green, carefully guarded and expression blank. He watched, heart sinking for reasons he refused to acknowledge, as Loki’s expression changed, innocent curiosity giving way to a hard mask, lips pressed in a thin line as he waited for the lie to come. But it never did.

Thranduil had extricated himself from strong, thin arms, and slipped away into the night, dodging his guards in order to go to the library unhindered.

He left Loki sleeping soundly in order to investigate a niggling suspicion that had been growing since Loki had fallen into his lap—both literally and metaphorically.

He delved deeper than he ever had before, losing himself among cobwebbed scrolls and twisted roots of both tree and mountain, the bedrock of his realm inviting its King into its murkiest depths.

The Greenwood was sick, it had started in small things, hints and nudges that spoke of darker, more dangerous things. He could feel the infection spreading, seeping into his precious forest, and he felt it seeping into his own bloodstream. It burned him as dragonfire had, an itch he was incapable of scratching.

He lost himself to the wave of memories that rose before him, stories of the Jotunn, before the time of Men. They had been a cruel and conquering race, devoted to destruction and domination.

The parallels between the Jotunn and another race did not escape him.

He pulled his cloak tighter around himself, settling into a cradle of roots with a pile of scrolls. Each was marked with a runic symbol not of Dwarves or Elves, but something… _Colder_. He opened the first one and breathed deep, beginning to read.

* * *

Loki awoke to an empty bed, and instantly cursed himself for thinking he would receive any different treatment.

The sheets were still warm, so the King could not have left long ago. Loki supposed he could have slipped away for just a moment, attending to a matter of state, or something more personal, but he doubted it.

More likely, the wine had worn off and he had seen the folly of his decisions. Loki pushed himself up on his elbows, only then spying the note left for him.

_Sleep still. Matters arose I needed to see to. I will return shortly. Wait for me._

Loki relaxed, sinking back into the sheets, breathing deeply once more. If Thranduil had taken the time to assure him of his return, then perhaps it was not such a mistake after all.

He pulled the covers up over himself, burrowing into the warmth of the bed. It still smelled like the both of them, their joining, a spicy musk of the Elfking mingled with the sharp tang of Loki. It was oddly comforting, in its own way.

He settled, breath evening out, and allowed his eyes to flutter shut once more. The hush of the forest realm washed over him, encircling him in a peace he had not felt for what seemed like an age.

Here, surrounded in silence, he slept and awaited his King’s return.

* * *

Thranduil was pleased to see that Loki had not moved much in his absence, the Prince still slumbering peacefully in the bed. He quickly removed the note from beside him and tucked it away, slipping his robe from his shoulders and sliding back into the bed, trying to jostle his guest as little as possible.

Loki’s eyes fluttered open all the same, however, peeking up through dark lashes to look at the blond.

“Sleep well?” Thranduil teased, reflexively reaching out to smooth back the errant strands of raven hair from Loki’s forehead, losing himself in the motion, fingers carding through the silky locks as his eyes unfocused.

“My Lord?” Loki prompted, an eyebrow raised.

“Yes?”

“I asked what took you away.”

Thranduil’s hand stilled, blue eyes meeting green, carefully guarded and expression blank. He watched, heart sinking for reasons he refused to acknowledge, as Loki’s expression changed, innocent curiosity giving way to a hard mask, lips pressed in a thin line as he waited for the lie to come.

But it never did.

“I went to the library.” Thranduil answered, continuing to stroke Loki’s head. “I was curious about something. A little history lesson on your… The Jotunn.”

Loki’s expression smoothed out, surprise evident in his raised eyebrows and parted lips. He had not been expecting Thranduil to answer his question honestly.

Pain twisted in Thranduil’s chest, and he failed to push it away entirely, concentrating on the green eyes before him.

“And what did you find?” Loki asked, shifting closer, skimming a hand up Thranduil’s arm to twist the ends of silvery hair around his finger. “Did you receive the answers you sought?”

“Yes and no.” Thranduil smiled, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. “But that was to be expected. I was far too impatient to return to you.”

Loki grinned, a flash of red in those emerald eyes, and peeked back up at Thranduil, his hand smoothing down the flawless skin of the Elf’s chest, a little jolt of magic tickling over his ribs as the Prince inched closer.

“Why, are you implying that you _missed me_?” He teased, hands skimming lower, rubbing light circles into his hip. “How attentive you are, My Lord.”

Thranduil watched emotions chase themselves across Loki’s eyes, a hunger for attention and affection followed by pure lust and giving way to… admiration.

The pain in his chest returned, and he spoke before he could think better of it.

“Let me show you how attentive I can be, Loki.”

Dark lashes fluttered at the use of his name, and Thranduil quelled the urge to smirk. Instead, he swooped in, lips hovering over Loki’s for the briefest of wingbeats before he made contact, a long, languid kiss that conveyed some of the emotion he was incapable of voicing.

His hands skated along Loki’s back and hip, catching at his thigh, pulling them flush together. Loki’s hands lost themselves into the curtain of star-kissed hair, a hungry sound leaving him as Thranduil’s other hand caught the back of his neck and rubbed small circles into the nape of his neck.

The King pulled away slowly, a small smirk gracing his lips as he took in the sight of Loki, pupils dark and lips now kiss-swollen and red. How delicious he looked, already wanting more, pleading silently for Thranduil to continue what he had started.

“I believe a bath is in order.” Thranduil said, shifting his grip slightly and scooping Loki up into his arms, earning a slight squeak of surprise. “Perhaps you would be kind enough to join me, Loki?”

There was that flutter in his lashes again, the name having a hypnotic pull on the Prince’s emotions.

“It would be my pleasure, My Lord.” He replied silkily, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses to Thranduil’s throat.

A soft groan bubbled out of the Elf before he could stop it, and a victorious chuckle was his reward… Along with a set of warm lips closing around the pointed tip of his ear, causing another sound entirely to leave him. Loki hummed in appreciation of the cry, blowing gently over the pointed tip.

“Or, perhaps, it will be your pleasure, My lord…”

* * *

“Do you wish to return to your own world?”

Thranduil had kept the question to himself during the slow washing they had enjoyed, hands rubbing knots from shoulders and backs, magic crackling through the water to make them both relax, the herbs that dusted the surface now sticking to skin and adding to the already heady scent that filled the air.

Loki tipped his head back, resting it on Thranduil’s shoulder as he peered up at the King.

“Why do you ask?”

Thranduil continued to brush Loki’s hair, the ornate antler comb a personal favorite. He stayed silent for a long moment, and Loki knew better now than to fill the silence with suspicions about what lie the King would spin for him.

“I may have discovered a way to return you there, if you should wish it.” Thranduil answered finally. “But the choice is yours, of course. I will not force you to stay.”

“Prisoner aside, you mean?” Loki teased, but there was a hard edge to his voice that Thranduil recognized.

“You are no longer a prisoner.” He assured him. “You may leave here as my guest. I will arrange for you to be taken wherever you wish by a company of my best warriors, should you wish to leave…”

“And if I wished to stay?” Loki asked, no longer looking at him. “What then?”

“You would be my most welcomed and honored guest.” Thranduil chuckled. “We could continue as we have been, or you could be given your own quarters… The choice is yours.”

“Is it, really?” Loki asked in an undertone.

Thranduil stopped his combing, setting the brush aside to take Loki’s face in one hand. He turned his head far enough to look him in the eye, stretching forward and curling around him to meet him halfway. He met his eye and found there uncertainty and hesitation. _Distrust_.

“You are not my slave, my prisoner, nor my concubine.” Thranduil spoke carefully, deliberately, holding Loki’s gaze as he spoke. “Should you wish to leave my kingdom, I would not stop you. Should you wish to stay within these borders and merely leave my bed, I would not stop you. Should you wish to continue our liaison, I would not stop you.”

“I would hope not.” Loki teased, but again that edge was in evidence, undercutting his humor with a line of discomfort.

“I am offering you the chance to do as _you_ want, Loki. Your decision will be your own. I will not make it for you, nor will I enforce my will upon you. What you do now is in your own hands. No one else’s.”

Loki breath caught in his throat as he offered Thranduil a smile, eyes softening as he nodded.

“Thus, my question still remains.” Thranduil spoke after a moment. “Do you wish to return to your own world?”

Loki was silent for a long time, searching Thranduil’s face for any indication of what he wanted, but the Elfking kept his features purposefully blank, giving Loki nothing to show what his own desires might be. Loki let out a long sigh, chuckling, and leaned into the Elf once more.

“Not yet.”

Thranduil let out a breath he had not realized he was holding, dropping a kiss to the top of Loki’s head, nodding once.

“I am glad to hear it.”


	7. I Am Toasting to the Way You Put that Smile Upon My Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their days always ended in one another’s arms, unless Thranduil had business to attend to late into the night. Days stretched into weeks, and Loki finally broached the subject he had been thinking on since he had seen the Elfking wield his swords.
> 
> “The next time you go out on patrol, may I come with you?”

The same behavior continued for the next several days, with Loki never leaving Thranduil’s bed for very long, if at all. If the inhabitants of the woodland realm had any problem with the situation, they did not comment on it. Instead, Loki slept away the hours he was not with Thranduil, or poured over the scrolls and tomes that Thranduil’s aides brought and left for him.

He drank in every word and detail, reading for hours and hours while Thranduil ran his kingdom. The Elf would regale him with even more stories when he returned, adding details the histories left out; a bit of personal flavor to the grand, sweeping descriptions the scribes had penned out centuries before.

In return, Loki told Thranduil about Asgard and Jotunnheim, of his brother and parents, of growing up in Thor’s shadow until…

Thranduil had silenced him, then, pressing a finger to his lips as he pressed a kiss to his temple. He whispered to him to forget, to let his past life slip away and enjoy what he now had. Kisses trailed from his temple, down his neck, and quickly lost themselves across his shoulders and chest, drawing soft sounds from the Prince.

Their days always ended in one another’s arms, unless Thranduil had business to attend to late into the night. Days stretched into weeks, and Loki finally broached the subject he had been thinking on since he had seen the Elfking wield his swords.

“The next time you go out on patrol, may I come with you?” He asked, watching Thranduil remove his crown and place it on a velvet cushion.

Thranduil flicked an eyebrow at him, blinking curiously. “Do you wish to?”

Loki nodded, plucking at the sheets, peeking through his lashes. “As much as I am enjoying your company in your bed, I would enjoy seeing the rest of your kingdom as well.”

Thranduil inclined his head, sliding his cloak from his shoulders, draping it over the back of one of his chairs. He did not reply for a long moment, instead disrobing in silence.

“Is there anything in particular about my realm you wish to know?” He asked. “Anywhere in particular you wish to go?”

“I would see your favorite places, My Lord.” Loki hummed.

Thranduil chuckled, inclining his head. “There are many places I would enjoy taking you.”

Loki grinned, raking his eyes up over him, licking his lips. “Oh, well, now you _have_ to take me with you.”

“I am taking a patrol out at first light. Is that agreeable to you?”

“You’re always agreeable to me, My Lord.” Loki chuckled.

Thranduil threw him a look, a small smile flitting across his lips. “We will have to find you something more suitable to wear… You will draw far too much attention to yourself, otherwise.”

“Are you trying to keep me to yourself again?” Loki teased, smirking. “Or are you suggesting I wear nothing at all?”

“Although both of those are excellent ideas, I would see you in the garb of my kin… It would suit you, I think.”

Loki slid from the bed, movements fluid and feral, a grin sliding onto his lips. Thranduil turned toward him, an eyebrow arched. Loki stood before him, his head tipped up and to the side, eyes wild.

“Would you humor me in an… experiment, My King?” He hummed.

“What sort of experiment?” Thranduil asked, brows knitting together.

“May I wear your clothes?” He asked. “And you wear mine?”

Thranduil’s eyes flashed for a brief moment, a smirk spreading over his lips. “Would you wish to wear my crown as well?”

“Only if you would allow it, My King.” Loki demurred. “I would not think of wearing it without your consent.”

Thranduil chuckled, hands skating up Loki’s arms to take his face gently in his hands. Loki’s lashes fluttered as he pressed into the touch, eyes turning to pools of liquid crimson as his control began to waver.

“I would allow it.” He hummed. “In fact, I would insist upon it.”

“Tomorrow, then?” Loki asked, pressing kisses to the Elf’s wrists. “After the patrol?”

“And a bath, yes.” Thranduil chuckled. “There may be a fight… But I imagine you are more than capable of handling yourself in battle.”

“You took my weapons.” Loki pouted. “And since I have not had them returned…”

“You will.” Thranduil interrupted. “You may even take another, if you wish.”

Loki tapped a finger to his lips. “Perhaps… Knives like your son’s?”

Thranduil hummed his approval. “That can be arranged.”

Loki chuckled, stealing a quick kiss before he slipped back onto the bed, humming. “Don’t let me stop you. Please, keep disrobing.”

Thranduil chuckled, going more slowly, putting on a show for his Prince.

* * *

First light came far too soon in Loki’s opinion, despite the flutter of kisses that heralded its arrival, and the warm words of welcome that brushed over his ear. He squirmed closer to the warm mass beside him, earning a chuckle from his bedfellow.

“And a very good morning to you as well.” Thranduil chuckled. “Thinking better of your decision to join us on our patrol?”

“No thinking.” Loki huffed, blinking his eyes open to stare up at the Elf. “Far too early for that.”

Thranduil chuckled, trying to extricate himself from Loki’s grasp. The brunet let him go reluctantly, pushing himself up into a sitting position, sighing deeply as he looked down at the end of the bed, finding a set of clothing and light armor laid out for him, along with a set of long, elegantly curved knives, and his own throwing knifes, cleaned and tucked into a pouch on the belt.

“Did you do that?” He blurted, eyebrows raised.

“I believe Legolas did that.” Thranduil answered, already beginning to dress for the hunt. “Despite the first impression you gave him, he seems strangely fond of you.”

“Perhaps he is fond of how you behave while with me.” Loki teased, earning a far softer smile than he had expected, and a shy glance from the corner of Thranduil’s eye.

“Yes… Perhaps that is it.”

Loki kept his mouth shut after that, getting dressed in silence, and only touching Thranduil’s arm to get his attention when he required help with the armor. Thranduil did up the ties on the bracers with a practiced ease, securing them and the light leather vest that Legolas had also provided. The knives were worn in supple leather sheaths across his back, and his throwing knives rested comfortably at his hip.

Thranduil canted his head to the side, looking him over critically once he was finished, his eye appraising as he smiled.

“I was right. It does suit you.”

Loki looked down at himself, running his fingers reverently over the fine fabrics and the soft leather, fingertips trailing over the engraved designs on his bracers and the embroidery of the tunic.

“I feel out of place in it.” He admitted.

Even for a Prince, this felt too much; too rich. He felt like an imposter in it, playing pretend in a palace where he did not belong.

“Nonsense.” Thranduil chided, securing his swords around his waist. “Were your hair longer, you would look right at home in these halls… You could certainly fool most mortals into thinking you were an elf…”

He trailed off, eyes darting up to look at Loki’s face, and the Prince wondered if perhaps he was comparing his features to those of most Men. Surely they were not that similar. High cheekbones and porcelain skin were not common among Men, even he knew that, and as Thranduil continued to inspect him, he drew himself up straighter, clasping his hands behind his back and widening his stance, chin raised.

“What orders would you give me, My King?” He asked, not making direct eye-contact with Thranduil.

Thranduil flicked an eyebrow up, chuckling as he brushed past him. “Come with me.”

Loki smirked, winking as he turned on his heel and followed his King out of the door. “Gladly.”


	8. We May Be Some Sort of Crazy; But I Swear on Everything I Have and More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His bones ached in ways he had forgotten they could, but under the bruises and layer of grime, he felt a hum in his veins that he had missed. He was happy, for the first time in a long time, pleased to be among other fighters who utilized speed and finesse over sheer strength and brute force.
> 
> He felt at home.

The patrol, thankfully, consisted of only a handful of Elves, with Thranduil leading them. Tauriel pointedly did not look at Loki as the brunette slid into place among them, but Legolas welcomed him with a small nod, which Loki returned, and he considered that an accomplishment. He fell into step alongside the other Prince, and no one stopped or questioned him, so he continued to lope along beside him.

When they left the palace, crossing over the same bridge he had first entered by, he was surprised to see no horses waiting for them. Surely they rode, it was impossible to imagine them patrolling the entire kingdom on foot, especially when he thought back onto the maps he had seen that detailed the borders of the Greenwood.

“Will we not ride?” He asked Legolas, deciding it would be impolite to address the King in so casual a manner in front of his subjects.

“We move more quickly through the trees without hooves to get in the way.” Legolas replied cryptically, a small smile forming. “Will you require a mount? That can be arranged.”

Loki caught the glance that Thranduil aimed at him from the corner of his eye, bristling at the idea that any of them thought him unable to keep pace with them.

“No, that will not be necessary.” He smiled. “I am sure I can keep up.”

He heard Tauriel snort, a very un-Elven thing to do, but was pleased when Legolas cut her a cold look, and she quieted.

“Then keep close. The woods are not kind to those not of our kin.”

Loki bowed his head, a more formal nod, given the circumstances, and adjusted the belt about his waist, sliding it into a more comfortable position. It had been some time since he had climbed trees, but he was confident he could keep up with them, even if was not of the same bloodline.

He spied the faint smirk that spread over Thranduil’s lips as he turned his attention back onto the path before them, leading the way as they wound through the darkened trees. Loki would have sworn that the trees _moved_ , spreading away from the path, making the way clear for their King.

He blamed it on his sleep deprivation.

The further they went, the darker it became, the thick canopy of trees obscuring the watery sunlight that had managed to breach the horizon, and the air grew thicker, pressing in around them like cotton wool, quieting the creaking of the trees and the murmur of wind through their leaves.

Loki’s footsteps whispered across the forest floor, his steps deliberately light as he kept in step with the Elven Prince, his posture shifting the further in they went, movements more fluid and feline as he kept his guard up, looking for the slightest hint of danger. His ears were ringing with the silence, hand never straying far from his knife belt.

Thranduil paused at the base of a large oak, cocking his head to the side as he placed a hand against it. He turned, nodding to Legolas, and the Prince instantly dodged around Loki to begin climbing, Tauriel following close after.

Loki repressed a snort as he cocked his brow at the way the redhead clambered up after her Prince. Clearly he had teased her about the wrong blond.

Thranduil continued along the path, and Loki lengthened his stride just enough to put himself a few paces behind the King, effectively covering his left flank. Memories of the milky iris rose to the forefront of his mind, and he relocated himself accordingly, the Elves behind him reforming around them.

The King paused again, resting his hand against another tree, and then nodded to the Elves behind them.

The other three scouts shot up into the tree, leaving Thranduil and Loki to continue alone. Without the audience, Loki’s manner relaxed slightly, but he remained to the left and just behind the King, unwilling to move from his location, earning a faint smile from the blond.

“Is this how you always patrol?” Loki asked in low whisper, aware that Thranduil would hear him easily.

“Not always.” Thranduil replied in a similar tone. “But often, yes.”

“Why?”

“Many key locations can be host to scout troupes. From there, they can travel to the other locations that will be problematic. It is easier and more efficient this way.”

Loki would have made a joke about speed and efficiency if he had not suddenly found himself with his back pressed to the trunk of a tree, Thranduil’s hand clapped over his mouth, a soft hiss of warning in his ear, urging him to keep quiet.

He stilled the butterflies suddenly fluttering about his stomach, trusting Thranduil had more in mind than a sudden tryst in the greenery. He nodded once, eyes locked with Thranduil’s, and the King released him, nodding up into the tree above them. Loki followed his gaze; and suddenly every butterfly from before dropped to the pit of his stomach.

Above them in the branches, an enormous spider hung from a line of silky white webbing, its eyes milky white and legs stretching out to test the air before them. Its jaws opened and shut, tasting the air, and Loki wondered for a brief moment what he tasted like to the creature, so foreign and new.

Thranduil took a slow step back, silent but for the faintest whisper as his sword left its sheath. Loki, in turn, pushed away from the tree trunk and drew the borrowed knives from their sheath, holding them loosely, but comfortably in his hands.

The spider continued its descent, moving more quickly as it caught the scent of an Elf on the air, spittle dripping from its long fangs, the wickedly curved appendages glistening in the dim light. Loki shuddered in anticipation, watching a similar thrill run through Thranduil as he watched the spider continue to descend, readying himself for the fight.

The spider pounced, surprising both men, and launched itself at Thranduil. Loki leapt forward at once, a throwing knife sinking into its foreleg, causing it to recoil with a high-pitched shrill. The brief delay was all the opening that Thranduil needed, however, to land a swift strike with his sword, ending the cry.

As Thranduil stepped away from the creature, its legs already curling in on itself, and wiped at his blade with a cloth from his belt before he returned it to its sheath, looking at Loki.

“Are you harmed?”

Loki shook his head. “Are you?”

“No. Thank you.”

Loki nodded, taking a shaky step forward and retrieving the knife from where it had hit its mark, taking the cloth Thranduil offered him in order to clean it before he replaced it in his belt.

“What is it?”

“A problem.” Thranduil sighed, earning a chuckle from Loki as he inspected the creature.

“Are there many of them?”

“Nests here and there. They have become bolder and more numerous of late… It bodes ill for my people.”

Loki could understand why. One spider was one thing, but a nest could quickly get out of hand. Had this one not been blind, they would not have fared as well as they had. He could only imagine the sort of damage a nest of spiders this size could wreak on the forest. He was suddenly filled with an inexplicable urge to purge the trees of them, to take this matter into his own hands and cleanse the forest.

“Come with me.” Thranduil ordered, gracefully leaping into the branches of the tree, scaling it easily.

Loki did as he was told, clambering after him, desperately trying to keep up as the Elf climbed higher and higher, hardly stopping for breath between boughs. Loki trailed behind him, though not far behind, and resisted the urge to start swearing when his soft pants earned him a smirk and a flash of blue eyes.

Thranduil stopped when he reached the top most branches, nothing but the leafy canopy left above his head, sunlight peeking through in patches to set his hair ablaze in white-hot flashes. He waited for Loki to catch up, and then nodded through the trees to where Loki could just make out a thin net of webbing strung between branches of a diseased tree, the bark peeling back in great swathes, bubbling black ooze leaking from gashes in the tree’s hide.

“There. A nest.”

“Are the others coming?”

Thranduil arched an eyebrow at him, expression caught between smug and surprised. “Are you saying you are not up to the challenge?”

“Merely asking.” Loki bluffed, standing as straight as he could, a bit winded from his trek up the tree. “I will follow where you lead.”

Thranduil smiled; the smug twist to his lips from before suddenly gone. “I would not lead you into a battle we could not win.”

The brunet chuckled, taking a deep breath, the air clearer and cooler up here than it had been on the forest floor. He could feel the fog of before fall away, eyes and mind clearing the longer he stood in the branches and just _breathed_.

“Well, shall we?” Loki prompted after a long moment, eyes silently thanking Thranduil for the brief reprieve and chance to catch his breath.

Thranduil smirked, eyes bright, and nodded. “Come with me.”

* * *

It was nearly evening by the time the party returned to the castle, only Loki looking worse for wear. He had a bruise blooming over his ribs and a cut to his cheek, grazed knuckles and a slight limp. He had had worse sparring with Thor, but it made him feel very fragile among the unaffected Elves, his head dipped as he tried to keep up with Legolas, the Prince slowing his gait to accommodate him.

Loki would have been insulted if he was not so tired.

His bones ached in ways he had forgotten they could, but under the bruises and layer of grime, he felt a hum in his veins that he had missed. He was happy, for the first time in a long time, pleased to be among other fighters who utilized speed and finesse over sheer strength and brute force.

He felt at home.

He did not realize he had followed Thranduil back to his quarters until the doors closed behind them, jarring him from his thoughts. He had followed the King on pure instinct, keeping the long sweep of star-kissed hair in his sights as he thought, following wordlessly wherever his King led him.

“Are you alright?” Thranduil asked after a pause, stepping into Loki’s space to inspect the thin red line that ran along his cheekbone.

“I’ve had worse.”

“That is not what I asked.”

Loki considered lying, deflecting the King’s concern with an easy line and a quick wink, but he decided it would be a disservice to the man who had taken such care with him. Of him. It would be like lying to…

“I am. Just… _sore_.”

Thranduil chuckled, taking Loki’s hand and brushing his lips over his raw knuckles.

Loki bit back a wince, wanting to savor the moment and the meaning behind the gesture, and instead let out a chuckle of his own.

“Not even night, yet, and I already want to crawl into bed.” He caught the gleam in Thranduil’s eye and cut him off before he could even begin. “And not like that.”

“A pity. I hear it helps relieve pain.” The King mused, releasing Loki’s hand and beginning to disrobe. “A bath, perhaps? I am sure there is one already drawn up. Likely they have put healing herbs into the water to help with any pain you may be feeling.”

“Are you not in pain?”

Thranduil paused in taking off his sword belt, eyes downcast for a long moment before he finally looked up, the smile he wore not reaching his eyes.

“I hurt in ways their herbs cannot help.”

Loki moved across the space before he realized what he was doing, cupping Thranduil’s face in his hands, his glamor falling away in a rush, red eyes meeting blue.

“You are not broken.”

Thranduil’s smile made Loki’s chest tighten, and hands came up to cover his, guiding his right hand lower, Thranduil’s own glamor falling away as he whispered.

“Am I not?”

Loki kissed him, a soft, melting kiss that lingered and reassured, but did not demand or bruise. He held his hand just above the marred flesh of Thranduil’s scar, the cool radiating off it and soothing the eternal burn that the dragonfire had left in its wake.

Thranduil made a small, shy sound, and Loki returned one of his own, bold and loud, comforting and claiming.

 _He would not have this_.

“You are not.” He breathed against the ruined cheek, a shiver running through the Elf. “You are beautiful in your imperfections, captivating in your flaws.”

Thranduil dipped his head, pressing his forehead to Loki’s, their noses brushing as Loki ran his fingers through the King’s hair, taking more of his weight onto him.

“I… You are so much more than what you think, _A’maelamin_.” He whispered, unable to utter the words trapped on his tongue. They refused to come out, no matter how much he wished for them to.

However, Thranduil seemed to understand, his hands gliding up Loki’s sides and back to bring him closer, hold him tighter.

“Thank you, Loki.”

His heart stuttered in his chest and he willed it to still, less Thranduil hear it.

“You are more than welcome, My King.”

“My name. I would hear you say it.”

Loki bit back a smirk as he pulled away far enough to find Thranduil’s gaze with his own, eyes locking at once. He hummed as the glamor slid back into place, glimmering blue eyes silently asking for something neither of them was able to express.

“You are more than welcome, Thranduil.”

* * *

“I might have to have one of these made for myself.” Loki mused as he stood before the glass, turning his head this way and that, admiring the thin spires that rose in an arch from the crown he now wore.

The tall collar suited him; setting off his cheekbones and long neck, and the long, swirling cloak he wore made him feel taller. The pale fabric made his eyes pop, the faint greens woven through it catching the light and sparkling like seams of emeralds.

“How do you _move_ in this?” Thranduil asked, experimentally tugging on the sleeves of the long coat he now wore, the black and emerald making him look even paler than normal, the copper touches catching the golden hues in his hair and magnifying them tenfold.

“I could ask you the same.” Loki teased, sweeping the long train of the cloak around to look Thranduil over, his breath catching at the sight of his King in his clothing.

It was shorter on him than it was on Loki, but it fit surprisingly well despite that. The collar flared and hung open, putting his throat on display, tempting Loki to slip closer and taste it.

“I take it you are enjoying this?” Thranduil teased, looking Loki over again.

“Yes.” He hummed, slinking closer. “But I will enjoy taking you _out_ of my clothes even more.”


	9. You Brought the Rain's Romantic Pour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki blinked the sleep from his eyes and took in the view. From their perch, he could see a winding river that fed from the forest into the lake, beyond that hills that rose in a jagged line further east, and just to the north, one solitary mountain rose from the landscape, tall and proud.

“Come with me.”

The command was given in a murmur of lips across his ear, the warm breath rousing him from his sleep. Warm hands glided over his arm, waking him further as insistent lips peppered over his neck and shoulder.

“Come, Loki, come with me.”

His eyes fluttered open to weak, pre-dawn light, head turning to catch sight of a pair of bright blue eyes staring down at him, full of mischief.

“Let me take you to one of my favorite places.”

Loki grumbled, but pushed himself up, rubbing at his eyes as Thranduil practically bounded from the bed and hurried to dress, Loki following behind at a much more sedate pace. Once his clothes were on, a bundle was shoved into his arms, and his hand was grabbed, their fingers lacing together as Loki stumbled after Thranduil into the winding hallways of his kingdom, trying to keep his eyes focused on the broad shoulders before him.

Somewhere between the King’s chambers and the front gate, he had been helped onto the back of a great Elk, slumped forward against Thranduil’s back, his sounds of protest lost to the soft fabric of his cloak and his silvery hair.

The sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon when Loki managed to finally awaken fully, surprised to find himself perched in the branches of a great tree on the edge of the forest, looking out over rolling hillsides down toward a shimmering lake.

“Where are we?”

“One of my favorite places.” Thranduil smiled, perched next to him, unwrapping the bundle he had shoved into Loki’s arms before their departure. “I often come here to watch the sunrise.”

Loki blinked the sleep from his eyes and took in the view. From their perch, he could see a winding river that fed from the forest into the lake, beyond that hills that rose in a jagged line further east, and just to the north, one solitary mountain rose from the landscape, tall and proud.

“We are on the edge of the forest.” Thranduil continued, offering Loki a small square of bread from the bundle, inching closer to do so. “That is Esgaroth, there, or Lake-Town as it is known in the common tongue. And beyond that are the Iron Hills. Dwarves live there.”

“And that mountain?” Loki pointed north, nibbling at the bread. “What is that one called?”

Thranduil did not respond at once, eyes hard as they stared at the mountain wreathed in dark clouds. “It was once a great kingdom, called Erebor.”

“And now?”

“Now it is known as the Lonely Mountain.” Thranduil returned his gaze to Loki, expression carefully blank. “Should you stay here, you would do well to never venture near that place.”

Loki wanted to ask why, but Thranduil’s expression changed, eyes softening and lips quirking into a smile as he turned to look toward the Iron Hills.

“Look.”

The sun rose in a great blaze of color, the Hills turned to jagged teeth along the horizon, the earth itself a great maw that was giving up the prize of the sun, delivering it up into the sky. The lake caught the sunlight, turned to shimmering, silver glass in its bright rays, and the leaves around him suddenly blazed with color, seeming to come alive under the light of the sun.

“No matter how many long years I have lived, that first moment of the dawn, the fleeting instant when the sun greets its waiting sky… That moment is still full of magic, for me.”

Loki turned his gaze back onto the Elfking, watching as he continued to stare into the east, blue eyes turned nearly silver with the light. Thranduil closed his eyes and breathed in deep, as though he were trying to inhale the sunlight itself. He was changed in the bright light, more concrete, somehow, less ethereal; but no less beautiful.

“The light suits you.” Loki spoke without thinking, Thranduil’s gaze shifting back onto him. “You have spent too long in the dark, I think.”

Thranduil laughed for the first time since Loki had met him, the sound peeling out like silver bells, echoing into the forest around them, the leaves rustling with laugher of their own.

“You would not be wrong, Loki… To think I have spent so long hiding in my halls when I could have been here, enjoying the light…” He trailed off, looking back at Loki. “You have reminded me how much I missed the morning light.”

Loki suddenly felt self-conscious under the burning blue gaze that was trained on him. He ducked his head, pushing his immediate instinct to quip away his worry with a zippy comeback down and instead shrugged.

“I have merely wished to… entertain you, My King.”

Thranduil’s hand came up to catch his chin, forcing him to look back into that searching blue gaze. “You have done that and more, My Prince.”

For a heartbeat, Loki thought about throwing caution to the wind, of leaning in and claiming that smiling mouth with his own. Location be dammed, he would _have him_ , like this, here, in the morning light, laid bare under its bright rays. The whole forest could revel in the sight of its King in all his splendor, panting for breath and pressed into the body of his captive…

But then Thranduil pulled his hand away, that smile shifting into a smirk as he seemed to read Loki’s mind, gaze flicking between green eyes and a greedy mouth before he turned away, standing on the branch easily, offering Loki his hand.

“We had best climb down, before we try to explore anymore.” He teased. “As tempting of a thought as claiming you here is, I worry you would not last long in so precarious a position.”

Loki popped the rest of the bread into his mouth and took Thranduil’s hand, snorting softly.

“So thoughtful, My King.”

* * *

As soon as Loki landed back on the firm ground, Thranduil had him pressed against the trunk of the tree, his mouth capturing his, hands already sliding under his coat.

With a sound of surprise, Loki returned the kiss, scrabbling to find a handhold, thoughts muddied by the insistent press of a tongue against his lips, a soft growl leaving an elegant ivory throat until he parted his lips for his King.

Thranduil chuckled, victorious, slid Loki from his coat, breaking the kiss only once to allow Loki a chance to pull his tunic away.

“Here?” He managed, both aroused and embarrassed by the idea.

“The trees will not talk, I assure you.” Thranduil teased, coaxing Loki away from the tree and down onto his cloak, a grin tugging at his lips as he made short work of Loki’s clothing, practiced fingers flitting over his chest. “And I made it very clear that there were to be no patrols today.”

“Yes, but…” Loki’s protest died in his throat as Thranduil kissed along his exposed chest, hands tugging his trousers down.

“Do you wish for me to stop?” Thranduil asked, coming back up to look Loki in the eye.

He shook his head, breath catching at the hungry grin Thranduil gave him.

“Then do not hold back.”

* * *

They took a long, winding route back toward the palace, the Elk moving sure-footed through the forest as it followed no particular path, but seemed determined in where it was going. Thranduil held no reins, and the path they took through the woods was free of cobwebs and any sign of spider nests.

They were taking a route along a black river when Loki first heard it, the sound of shattering glass and crumbling stone. He remembered the way the portal to Jotunheim had sounded, the fracturing of one world as it collided with another.

“Wait.” He turned toward the sound, searching through the trees. “Do you hear that?”

Thranduil canted his head to one side, eyebrows drawing together in a frown. “Yes. What is it?”

“I think…” Loki stopped, torn between telling Thranduil about the potential portal, and pretending it was nothing. If Thranduil wanted him to leave, he now had a way to ensure it happened.

“Loki?” Thranduil prompted; nothing but concern in his eyes.

“I think it may be a portal. Like the one I came through.”

Thranduil instantly turned his Elk toward the sound, the animal picking its way through the underbrush with little effort. Soon, they were at the foot of a small mountain range, a black river burbling nearby, the dark water rushing out from the foot of the mountain.

Loki slipped from the Elk’s back, Thranduil following close behind, whispering to the Elk to stay put. It bowed its head to him and remained where it was as the pair of them approached the foot of the mountain.

Loki followed his ears, letting the sound guide him to a small cave in the side of the mountain, the air shimmering near the back of the cave. He scooped up a loose stone by his foot and threw it toward the fissure, the stone vanishing with a gust of air.

“I _knew it_.” He breathed, watching the air continue to writhe and shake.

“Do you wish to go?” Thranduil asked softly from beside him, eyes trained on the fissure. “I will not stop you, if that is what you desire.”

Loki took a deep breath, the air here much damper and colder than anywhere else in the forest. It clung to him like moss to a tree, sinking into his clothing and skin. He felt like he was drowning, the long he breathed in the damp air, as if he were drinking in deep lungful’s of water.

“Come with me.” He breathed, turning to look at Thranduil.

There was a pause, several emotions chasing themselves through the clear blue eyes before they softened, an unsteady breath leaving the Elf.

“My people need me.”

Loki shook his head, pushing aside his disappointment. “No, no, not… Not to stay. Just to see. Let me show you my world, even just a tiny corner of it, and then… Then we can come back.”

Thranduil’s eyebrows winged up his forehead. “We?” He repeated.

Loki nodded, once, sure of what he wanted. “We.”

Thranduil’s hand found his, their fingers lacing together. “Lead the way.”


	10. You Make the Sound of Pulling Heaven Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki’s eyes flew open, lips parting as he caught sight of where they were. Asteroids were floating through a colorful nebula, precarious walkways carved into stone that linked the craterous rocks together.
> 
> “This is not Asgard.” He breathed, heart beginning to hammer against his ribs as he realized the portal had not lead where he had hoped. “We should go.”

Moving through the portal was more painful than Loki had imagined.

He screamed as his skin was burned away, inch by inch, and then sewn back together again, every nerve of his being stripped raw. He collapsed onto hard ground the moment he exited the portal, panting hard as he shook uncontrollably.

Beside him, Thranduil fared no better, his breathing ragged and limbs quivering as he kept himself upright. He knelt beside Loki, a hand laid lightly against his shoulder, his voice shaking as he spoke.

“Loki? Are you alright?”

Loki swallowed the bile that rose up the back of his throat, nodding slowly as he pushed himself up, eyes shut against the stabbing light that tried to pry its way into his brain.

“This place… It does not look as you described.”

Loki’s eyes flew open, lips parting as he caught sight of where they were. Asteroids were floating through a colorful nebula, precarious walkways carved into stone that linked the craterous rocks together.

“This is not Asgard.” He breathed, heart beginning to hammer against his ribs as he realized the portal had not lead where he had hoped. “We should go.”

“Can you stand?”

A high-pitched cry filled the air and Loki whimpered as he covered his ears, eyes slamming shut again at the pain that ripped through him.

“Loki!” Thranduil hauled him to his feet, supporting him with an arm around his waist. “Can you make it back through the portal?”

Loki shook his head. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

He slowly opened his eyes, watching Thranduil’s face harden as he looked out over the landscape, searching for what had made that blood-curdling sound. Somewhere in the background, more cries answered the first, rallying to their leader.

“We need to go.” Loki repeated; panic already beginning to gnaw at him. “If we stay here…”

“You are in no condition to go back.” Thranduil interrupted. “You must rest before you try again.”

“We don’t have time.” Loki snapped, looking back at the Elf. “You need to go.”

“I will not leave you here.” Thranduil replied without any hesitation. “I will _not_.”

Loki laughed, tears springing to his eyes as the effort of it burned him more. “I’m not asking.”

Thranduil searched his face, eyes unsure and questioning. There were things he wanted to ask Loki, questions he _needed_ answered, but all that came out was a strangled word.

“ _Please._ ”

Loki kissed him, the hissing cries of the creatures getting closer, filling the air around them as he tried to tell Thranduil everything he had never had the nerve to say through that final kiss. He pressed his forehead to the Elfking’s, breathing hard as he turned back toward the portal, hobbling along with Thranduil at his side.

“You said _we_ would return. Do not break your word, Prince.” Thranduil whispered, eyes still pleading as Loki looked over his shoulder to the gathering figures on the horizon, the black swarm moving closer at speed.

“I know.” Loki stopped beside the portal, taking Thranduil’s face in his hands, leaning in to whisper against his lips, putting magic into the words as he let them slip from his mouth into Thranduil’s. “ _Gi melin_ , Thranduil...”

Thranduil’s eyes widened, breath catching in his throat as he swallowed, eyes flashing green as the magic was consumed. “Loki, I…”

Loki shoved him into the portal as the figures began to crowd around the plateau where they had stood. He cried out, reaching for the Prince as one struck him, sending him crashing to his knees, but it was no use. Within seconds, the distorted image of Loki on his knees was gone, replaced with the blank wall of the cave.

He heard the rushing river in the distance, the sounds of birds that were brave enough to make their home in the mountains, and the quiet hush of the forest.

Thranduil hauled himself to his feet, spinning on his heel, determined to return, but the portal was gone. He reached out, panting as he tried to find where the fissure had been, but there was nothing. The air was still and silent around him, and he let out a breath as he realized what Loki had done.

He had only been given enough magic for one trip.

The portal lay dormant, now, silent in the face of one with less magic than the Prince who had sacrificed himself to send his King home.

Thranduil dropped to his knees and let out a cry that echoed through the cave and into the forest, the sound of a wounded animal, one whose heart had been carved out for the second time.

* * *

Legolas found him by the banks of the Enchanted River, contemplating plunging himself into the murky depths so that he might forget. His Elk lay behind him, curled around him, as the King hung his head and watched the river swirl past. He was not invulnerable to the enchantment, and he wondered what he would dream of, before he would awaken and finally forget.

“Where is Laufeyson?” Legolas asked as he sat beside him, staring into the river as well.

“He is gone.” Thranduil murmured; voice almost lost in the rush of the river.

“Back to his own?”

Thranduil’s voice cracked on the word. “ _No_.”

Legolas held his tongue, glancing at his father from the corner of his eye.

He was crumpled in on himself, his cloak drawn tight around him, his face buried in the soft, silvery fabric. He clung to it like the last thread of hope, fingers curling into the fabric tighter the longer he sat and stared at the water.

“If you wish to forget, I will remember for you.” Legolas offered in a hushed voice, aware of how his father was feeling. When he had lost his mother, he had come to this same spot, and thought of plunging himself into the waters as well in order to wash the fragmented memories of her away.

It would have been simpler, but it would not have been right.

“I will not forget him.” Thranduil stated at last, holding himself up a little taller, letting out a sigh. “That would be wrong of me. He deserves better.”

Legolas inclined his head, pleased his father had made the same decision he had, all those years ago.

“What will you do, then?”

Thranduil thought on the sunrise, the way the warm light had made pale skin glow and green eyes shine. He remembered the way his crown had graced a dark head, and his pale silks had made the Prince laugh and hold himself higher. He remembered how he had stood to attention for his King, and hung his head low in reverence, how he had worshiped him with his hands and mouth, with his body…

He remembered it all.

“Come, we have much to do.” He stood, sweeping back onto his Elk, Legolas climbing up behind him. “We will make this forest safe, once more. Beyond our borders, I care not what happens, but here…”

 _Here, were he fell, where we met, where we were together, where we were happy_.

“Here, I will ensure no evil is allowed to live.”

It was not until they had returned, late in the evening with the moon hung among the countless stars, that he discovered the throwing knife laid out beside his swords. Runes were etched across its surface, but Thranduil did not have the heart to try and read them, falling instead to his knees we he held the knife close, palms bleeding as he clutched it tighter, a broken king in a rotting castle.

* * *

Loki’s awoke with a gasp, his eyes flying open, the Elfking’s name on the tip of his tongue before a breathy, hissing voice interrupted.

“My Lord, the intruder has awoken.”

Loki shuddered, searching the darkness for the one who was speaking, his mind fogged and his heart racing.

“Has he, now?” A deep, booming voice spoke out of the void, and Loki’s heart skipped a beat at the chuckle laced through it.

These captors would not be so kind as the last ones had been.

“Break him.”

Loki’s cry was cut off by a blow to the face, lip splitting as another chuckle sounded through the darkness around him.

“With pleasure, My Lord.”

He was hauled to his feet, dragged forward and tumbled over a hard altar before another blow landed across his back. He felt blood begin to seep against his bare skin, and then something covered the wound. Within seconds he could feel something wriggling into his veins, lighting each nerve on fire.

He let out a scream, ripped from him by the fire in his veins. It rand out across the landscape, echoing through the abyss, lost among the foreign stars and unrelenting captors.

It was the sound of pulling heaven down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Gi melin" means "I love you"


	11. Make Love like Time and Space is Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He turned, gaze chasing the fluttering path of an emerald butterfly. The pattern of its wings was intricate, the emerald laced through with flecks of gold and broad black stripes. It landed on the balcony’s railing, wings beating twice more before it shifted colors, green melting to crimson, black to azure blue, and Thranduil’s breath caught in his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning another chapter... But then everyone seemed to want one.  
> So here you go, lovely people! Enjoy~

“You have seemed distracted of late, My Lord,” Galion spoke, eyeing the Elf-King. “What has you so preoccupied?”

“This battle… I have felt my losses more acutely because of it.” Thranduil replied; keeping his eyes trained on the horizon. “If this has made me neglect my duties to my people…”

“No, My Lord; that is not the case.” Galion assured him. “I merely wished to know if there were anything I could do, to—”

“What is done is done,” he snapped, cutting his steward off. “What is lost—what is lost cannot be reclaimed.”

“I understand, My Lord.” Galion bowed, turning away. “I apologize for interrupting.”

“Should Lake Town send word again, inform me immediately.” Thranduil spoke, a faint smile flickering over his features. “It would not do well to ignore our new allies in their time of need.”

“Of course, My Lord.” Galion chuckled. “I will keep you informed.”

“Thank you.”

“My Lord, should… Someone else send word, would you prefer to respond yourself?”

Thranduil cast him a knowing look, but there was a fondness in his gaze that Galion had not seen in quite some time, and it gave him hope.

“Yes. That would be… Yes.”

“As you wish, My Lord.”

Galion bowed again and turned on his heel, leaving the king to contemplate in solitude, the dagger he kept with him always being traced again and again by fingers that had long since learned the message the runes held.

Spring was on the horizon, much-needed warmth to chase away the bitter chill of winter.

For Thranduil, however, spring held no boon. He felt no warmth in the clear morning sun, nor took any joy in the kaleidoscope of butterflies that had begun to flutter through the budding trees. He felt nothing, though the world around him began to come alive.

The forest had begun to recover, the sickness that had plagued it for so long now gone, but a darkness still clung to it like mist, the King’s melancholy seeping from the palace out into the woodland realm. The losses he had suffered had hardened his heart once more, turning him to stone; and the forest had responded in kind.

He had felt little since his return from a fissure in the mountains, and the loss of a love he had never meant to find.

After the battle, when the smoke had cleared, he had been left with even less than before. Legolas had chosen exile, Tauriel had left to mourn; and his war-torn kingdom had to recover under the rule of a weary and battered king. He had no strength left to carry the kingdom upon whose throne he sat.

He was _tired_. And he wanted nothing more than to sleep… Perhaps eternally.

But rest would not find him, not now, not for some time. He had almost wished to find his end in battle, throwing himself senselessly into one of the only things he knew, but he had survived.

Dáin had called him lucky.

He had wanted to spit in the Dwarf’s smug, bearded face.

He was the least lucky of his kin—to lose not one love, but _two_. To lose the only family he had ever known, all because of one Dwarf’s pride and arrogance… All because of his _own_.

He let out a sigh, the dying rays of sun turning the tops of the trees to a swaying sea of flame, and began to turn away, ready to retire for the night; to hide in a bed too big for one, sleepless and alone. He paused, however, when a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention.

He turned, gaze chasing the fluttering path of an emerald butterfly. The pattern of its wings was intricate, the emerald laced through with flecks of gold and broad black stripes. It landed on the balcony’s railing, wings beating twice more before it shifted colors, green melting to crimson, black to azure blue, and Thranduil’s breath caught in his throat.

He tried to catch it, hand snaking out of its own accord, but the creature melted to mist against his hand.

A cry ripped from him, inhuman and guttural, and he slammed his hand against the railing.

“Had I known I would receive a greeting of this kind, I would have reconsidered coming at all.”

The sinuous voice drifted to him through the open doorway, and Thranduil spun around, dagger at the ready, his breath leaving him at the sight that greeted his gaze.

Loki leant against the doorway to Thranduil’s chamber, arms folded, and smirk playing over his lips.

He looked the same, hardly altered by the time they had spent apart—hair longer and wilder, clothes much the same, but there was a feral light in his eyes and a wicked curve to his smile that had not been there before.

Thranduil took a careful step forward, eyes warry, and watched the harshness fade as he smiled, the smug façade falling away as he spoke.

“This is no trick, My King—no spell of the forest, playing on your mind. I am here, Thranduil. Alive and breathing.”

Before he had even finished speaking, Thranduil had surged forward, sealing his last work with a kiss. His hands caught in all the familiar places, the leather still supple and smooth beneath his palms as he pulled Loki closer, crushing them together.

Loki’s hands were lost in the Elf’s hair as soon as they made contact, a deep, hungry sound of need leaving him as Thranduil claimed his mouth.

It was clumsy and rough, too needy to be carried out with any finesse, broken words and half-swallowed sounds music to their ears as they tangled themselves in each other once more.

“I thought you dead, _A’maelamin_.” Thranduil gasped as he pulled back, holding Loki’s face in his hands, thumbs stroking over the elegant cheekbones and ivory skin. “I thought…”

“I thought I would die, more than once.” Loki admitted, fingers carding through Thranduil’s hair. “But I had to see you, one last time…”

“Last?” Thranduil pulled away at once, heart stilling as his mask fixed itself in place, a growl lacing his words. “A final fling before you left forever?”

Loki swooped in to press a feather-light kiss to the corner of his mouth, fingers brushing reverently over the left side of his face.

“I would not allow myself to die before I saw you again.” He murmured, pulling down the king’s walls with soft touches and fleeting kisses. “And thus, here I am. Yours again, for as long as you have need of me.”

“How have you returned?” He asked, burying his face against Loki’s neck, clinging to him like a last leaf in autumn. He shook as Loki enfolded him in his arms, voice soft as he answered.

“It is a _very_ long tale, which I will be happy to tell you, but first…” He hummed, and the sound rumbled out of his chest and into Thranduil’s. “There is a more… _pressing_ matter we should attend to.”

Thranduil’s question was silenced by a slow roll of Loki’s hips, and a gasp left him instead. He clung to Loki’s shoulder’s as the brunet grinned, holding his hips tightly.

“You cannot deny how badly you have missed this— _needed_ this.” Loki purred, tongue flicking over the pointed tip of his ear. “How _desperately_ you have begged the Valar to feel my touch again.”

A sound left Thranduil he had not intended to make. He felt a flush rise into his cheeks and Loki hummed again, guiding him back by the hips until he was pressed against the doorway.

“I watched you, many a night, as you called my name while you pleasured yourself, but it was not the same, was it?” He slid to his knees, pressing a kiss to the jut of Thranduil’s hip through his leggings. “ _Was it_?”

“ _Û!_ ”

“Shall I remind you of my touch then, My King?” He asked; the wicked curve of his lip returning as he grinned. “Shall I make up for the time I have been away?”

Thranduil cast a look over the balcony railing, aware his guards would be listening and looking toward the palace, ever on-edge after the events of the last few months.

“W-wait.” He caught Loki’s hair and tugged, earning a feral growl and a sharp look. “Inside. I do not wish to be interrupted.”

Loki kissed his way up Thranduil’s body as he stood, pulling him into the bedchamber by the hand.

“Come, My King… Let me make up for my time away. Let me show you how desperately I have missed you.”

Thranduil hesitated for a moment, catching a glimpse of something fractured in the emerald eyes he had come to love so dearly. His hesitation caught the attention of the Prince, and one elegant eyebrow lifted in silent question.

“Loki… We do not—”

“Please.” Loki whispered, that fractured look back in his eyes. “I need this, Thranduil. I need _you_.”

Thranduil smiled, taking Loki’s face in his hands, pressing their foreheads together. “ _Ni milya tye, A’maelamin.”_

A soft sigh left the brunet as he relaxed, leaning into the King.

“I missed you as well, my beloved.” He chuckled.

“Now then.” Thranduil smirked. “What was that about pressing matters?”

Loki started to laugh, but Thranduil caught his mouth in a kiss, the sound turning darker and greedier as Thranduil devoured it, steering the brunet back by the hips, nimble fingers flickering over familiar clasps, sliding them out of place with practiced ease.

A familiar growl of frustration bubbled out of Loki’s chest, and Thranduil chuckled, shifting to help Loki remove his clothing.

“These _damn robes_.” Loki huffed as Thranduil removed his tunic. “ _These_ I have not missed.”

“But what lies below them is worth the effort, is it not?” The King teased. “Or have you been leading me on all this time?”

Loki growled, tearing the fabric from Thranduil’s shoulders, a shiver running through him. The trousers were the next thing to go, treated with a bit more care as the King growled out a warning before Loki could send them the way of his ruined tunic.

“Down.” Thranduil instructed, pushing him back toward the bed.

Loki toppled back onto the bed, propped on his elbows, and lifted his hips for Thranduil, the Elf sliding him out of his trousers, licking his lips hungrily as long lines of ivory skin were slowly revealed.

“On my back?” Loki managed, hips already bucking forward in small thrusts, fingers clenching in the silken sheets.

“Yes.” Thranduil kissed his way up Loki’s body, growling softly at the feel of creamy skin under his hands and lips. “I want to see you.”

Loki averted his eyes as Thranduil looked up at him, rubbing circles into his hips, hair spilling over one shoulder to pool across Loki’s stomach.

“Thran…” He squirmed, shuddering, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t…”

“I will be gentle.” He promised, kissing over a scar he did not remember from the last time.

There were several fresh scars, and a few more that had faded; the outline of his ribs visible as he panted. Each touch made him jump and shiver, whimpers slipping past his lips with every kiss.

“Should I stop?” He asked hesitantly, peeking up at the brunet. “You seem distressed.”

“I—” Loki pushed himself upright, brushing his knuckles across Thranduil’s cheek, earning a kiss to his palm. “I am still… unused to contact without consequence. It is a trained response that causes such a reaction, not you, _A’maelamin._ ”

“That is not an answer.” Thranduil smiled softly. “Should I stop?”

“No, please…” Loki pulled him up into a shy kiss, lips brushing over his as he whispered. “I am yours. Claim me once more, my King.”

Thranduil hummed, keeping his lips on Loki’s as he guided them back onto the bed. He kept himself propped up, hovering above the brunet as he scattered kisses across his neck. Loki sighed with each caress, already writhing under the king.

“May I touch you?”

“Yes.” Loki groaned, arching off the bed.

Thranduil hovered his hand above Loki’s hip, pausing for a moment before he made contact, a soft sigh of approval and appreciation his reward.

“If you need me to stop, tell me.” Thranduil murmured, gliding his hand up Loki’s side. “I will not harm you, Prince. You are safe with me.”

“I know.”

Thranduil kissed him again, slowly making more contact, from the legs up, the hand on Loki’s hip a constant point of pressure. Hesitantly, Loki began to reciprocate, his hand skating up Thranduil’s sides and back, hips rolling in small, shy circles. Thranduil kissed his way down Loki’s neck and chest, earning several small sighs and breathy gasps.

“I am going to take you in my mouth now.”

Loki’s hand found Thranduil’s hair and tangled into the soft locks, a needy moan leaving him.

“ _Please_.”

Thranduil kissed the hollows of his hips before he kissed the tip of his length, earning a soft whimper. He kissed his way down to the base before licking a broad stripe up the underside, taking the tip in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the head.

Loki gasped, hips bucking upward, Thranduil allowing him to set a slow pace, inching onto him further, slowly, working what remained in his hand.

“Thran—“ Loki whimpered, tugging at his hair. “Please, I want… I _need_ —”

“Do you want me to claim you? Or is this enough?”

Loki pulled him up by the hair, crashing their mouths together with a fierce growl, eyes flashing with magic.

“ _Fuck me_.”

Something in Thranduil snapped at the foreign utterance, and he surged forward, pushing Loki’s legs up as he rammed into him. He slid in without any resistance, and bit down on a moan at the familiar heat that engulfed him.

“Oh, _yes_!” Loki groaned, legs wrapping around Thranduil’s waist and pulling him in deeper.

“That is a _dangerous_ trick, Silvertongue.” Thranduil growled into his ear. “What have I told you about such parlor tricks?”

“I don’t recall.” Loki growled back. “Perhaps you should remind me.”

Thranduil left a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses along his neck as he set a slow, steady rhythm. He kept his mouth on  Loki’s skin as much as possible, reveling in the little sounds that slipped from his kiss-swollen lips as he sped up, pounding into other brunet hard enough to bruise any lesser man.

“My King, My King, please—!” Loki whined, writhing under him. “Touch me, please, I…”

Thranduil slowed and then stopped, sliding out as Loki’s head snapped up, a broken, betrayed expression washing over his face as he shook his head, whimpering.

“No, no, please, don’t— _Thranduil, please_.”

The Elf silenced him with a kiss, pulling and guiding him up and into his lap.

“I want you like this, My Prince—if you please.”

Loki grinned sharply; lowering himself slowly onto Thranduil’s waiting cock, groaning as he tightened himself around the king’s throbbing length.

Thranduil gripped his hips, sure to leave bruises, lifting him slowly before pulling him back down hard, hips snapping up to meet him.

Loki gasped out, hands grabbing Thranduil’s shoulders, moving faster. “ _Thran, yes. Just like—Yes!”_

Thranduil released one of his hips, pumping his weeping cock, earning a broken cry of relief as Loki’s head lolled back, efforts redoubled as he rode Thranduil.

Loki’s release arrived swiftly, spilling white and hot over Thranduil’s hand and chest, babbling words tumbling from the brunet’s lips as he squeezed his eyes shut, tears clinging to the corners of his eyes.

Thranduil moved on impulse, capturing Loki’s mouth, swallowing the words that sparked like magic along his tongue, spurring on his own release.

He tumbled over the edge on a wave of ecstasy, starlight bursting behind his eyelids as he held Loki in place, filling him with his release.

A wave of magic washed over him, a familiar prickling of his skin, and his eyes snapped open to find a pair of tearful emerald ones looking back.

“What have you done?” His tone was gentle and curious, his hands coming to cup Loki’s face, thumbs wiping away the tears that clung to his eyes.

“Binding spell.” Loki panted, resting his forehead against Thranduil’s. “Me to you. I should have warned you, but—”

“Why?”

Loki swallowed thickly, pulling slowly off Thranduil, collapsing beside him. He nuzzled into him, the Elf’s fingers losing themselves into the dark locks of his hair.

“I was… bound, when I was taken away. Against my will. I had to obey, follow orders… I…” He stopped, pressing his nose to Thranduil’s pulse, breathing in deeply. “I wanted to erase that bond and replace it with another one. One with you.”

Thranduil could feel the magic still pulsing through him, a warm net weaving into his being, settling into his bones, his _soul_.

“How?” Thranduil did not recognize the words Loki had used, nor the form the spell was taking, but he was confident Loki knew how to weave powerful magic.

“You claimed me.” Loki whispered, shivering as Thranduil continued to run his fingers through his hair. “After you gave me release. The spell was dependent upon those two conditions…”

Thranduil paused in his ministrations, shifting to look Loki in the eye. “When you were taken—”

“I was denied.” Loki answered simply. “It… I had not understood the torture of denial until then. To be claimed without release, used and tossed aside… There are not words.”

Thranduil kissed him gently, pulling him into a tight, possessive embrace. He tangled their legs between the sheets, pressing their foreheads together.

“ _Gi melin_ , Loki.”

Loki grinned. “You’re only telling me that _now_? I nearly _died for you_.”

“And I nearly died losing you.” Thranduil whispered back. “I thought you lost to me forever.”

“I burned worlds to see you again, love.” Loki chuckled. “Hel herself could not have kept me from your side.”

Thranduil chuckled, kissing him again, pulling him onto him. “We should clean up.”

“I have missed your touch far too much to think of getting up.” Loki mumbled, nuzzling into his neck. “Besides, who said I was done, hmm?”

“Again?” Thranduil chuckled, heat pooling low in his belly. “So soon after the last?”

“My magic strengthened while I was gone.” He hummed. “Or do I need to tell you to fuck me again?”

Thranduil growled, giving the brunet’s hair a sharp tug. “That word. Where is it from?”

“Midgard.” Loki smirked. “It is a filthy word there, too. Why, does it have some effect on you, My King?”

Thranduil smoothed his hand down Loki’s back, purring. “It does. I cannot explain the reason, either.”

Loki chuckled, running his hand up Thranduil’s leg, pulling it up over his, slick friction dragging against their lengths. He nosed along Thranduil’s neck and up to his ear, moaning softly as he gripped their lengths loosely in one hand, tugging lightly on them both.

“This is a dangerous game of yours, _Silvertongue_.” Thranduil sighed against his throat, lips brushing against his pulse. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Loki chuckled, kissing the pointed tip of his ear. “You are all I have ever wanted, _A’maelamin_.”

* * *

 

Thranduil woke in the night to an empty bed, and leapt up at once, not even pulling on his robe as he rushed around the room, in search of his bedmate.

“I am here, My King.” Loki called from the balcony, wrapped in one of Thranduil’s robes, holding out his hand for him. “I would not leave you without saying goodbye.”

Thranduil took his hand, joining him out in the moonlight. The stars sparkled in the vast sea above them, countless lights swallowed up in the night, the moon a cracked and silvery sickle that hung high above them. The tree tops swayed in a silent breeze, a moonlit ocean of black fingers and fragile new leaves tossed about by the cool wind.

“I found I could not sleep.” Loki admitted, resting his head against Thranduil’s chest. “Too many memories.”

“You should have woken me.” The king whispered, dropping a kiss onto raven locks.

“You need to rest.” Loki argued. “You have slept ill, of late. I am not ignorant of what has happened in my absence… I know you suffered.”

“Not so now.” Thranduil interrupted. “For you have returned.”

Loki peeked up at him, a shy, sly grin spilling onto his lips. “I will stay as long as I can.”

“Will our parting be less sudden, this time?”

“And less permanent.” Loki promised, chuckling. “I have my way in; now, I am not planning to lose it.”

“And if you do…?”

“Then know while I am gone that I will always look back to see you.” Loki whispered, pressing his forehead to the King’s. “No matter where I am, what realm or outer world, I will always see you, my love. I will always look for you, and I will _always_ find you.”

“Hel herself could not keep you away?” Thranduil teased.

Loki laughed, and _oh_ had Thranduil missed the sound. It echoed into the forest, and for a moment, Thranduil thought the cool breeze turned suddenly warm. The moon seemed to shine all the brighter, for Loki under its light, and Thranduil chuckled, speaking before he could think better of it.

“ _Gi melin_ , Loki Laufeyson. For as long as I have you.”

Loki froze, blinking in surprise as he looked up at Thranduil. For a moment the Elfking thought he had overstepped some boundary he had not realized existed. He had said the words before, as had Loki, but here in the magic of the night they took on a deeper meaning than Thranduil had intended for them to. It was not mere sentiment, now, it was a promise; a spell.

Loki smiled, the expression so soft, Thranduil almost missed it.

“You have me for as long as you want me, My King.” Loki whispered. “For I love you too.”


End file.
